Pulse Point
by MidnightOfTheSoul
Summary: Somehow, someway, it had been one of the single most erotic moments of your life. *Epilogue Up*
1. Chapter 1

Title: Pulse Point 1/11

Pairing: B/B

Rating: K+

Spoilers: Yanks in the U.K. set mid to late season four

Summary: Somehow, someway, it had been one of the single most erotic moments of your life.

A/N: Angst abounds. This is the base for a story I've been knocking around in my head. If this goes well, there will definitely be more. Enjoy.

+-+-+-+-+

It's late and you're tired. More tired than you've been in weeks. It's the first case you've actually worked with her since she's returned nearly two weeks ago and it feels… not right somehow. Like you both can't manage to get in sync with one another. Images of you getting your foot stuck in the pedal of your bike as your friends leave you behind flash through your mind.

She's different and you know you should have noticed before now, should have realized that her emotions are cold and flat, that her sporadic smiles never reach her eyes, eyes that you once thought would show you her world. Now they are simply crystal clear, devoid of anything that would betray the inner workings of her mind. You wonder how this happened without your noticing, how she'd managed to pull into herself again, but you already know the answer. You've known it for exactly nine weeks, two days and eight hours.

Her name is Jen and she is the new forensic anthropologist hired by the Jeffersonian during Bones' little excursion of mystery. She's originally from Toronto and has worked on several publications with Bones in the past, and now she's her co-worker and tentative friend. More than that, she's the hand you hold when you walk through the park, the smile that smirks at you when she's scored another basket, the weight next to you as you genuflect at the altar during Saturday mass. She's witty, she talks fast, she's quick to yell and even quicker to forgive.

Rubbing your hands over your face and sighing loudly, you toss your pen aside on the table and watch Bones as she holds the _talus of a man, early to mid forties, probable Indian ethnicity, no traces of manual labor on any weight bearing points, most likely mid-to- upper class_. Even now, after four years of working with one another, you still find yourself amazed by her.

Your eyes trace her form as you watch her move around the table, mentally cataloging what she sees, storing information in that cavernous brain of hers. Her hair is longer, much longer than you've ever seen it, and you find that your fingers itch to run through the large curls that have developed over the course of the day. Her skin is still tan, tanner than it has ever been, even though it has faded a bit since her return. You always wonder what caused her to get such a tan; she always packs SPF 3000 on most of your field excursions. Her teeth have taken her bottom lip hostage as she tries to tease out a clue from the tibia she has moved onto. A faint smile graces her lips, now red and glistening from the worry of her incisors. You look away, censoring your thoughts before they can even move in that direction.

A loud sigh and a stretch brings your attention back to her and you watch as her features become cat-like as she stretches towards the glass domed ceiling, reaching the endless supply of stars above. You watch as she rolls her neck side to side, causing slight popping sounds to emanate from her C4 and C5 vertebrae. That's right. You evened learned the names of some bones while she was gone. Smiling to yourself at your newfound knowledge, you don't realize she's standing before you, leaning against the opposite exam table.

"It's late," she states, not inquiring about your fading smile.

"I noticed," you say as you cap your pen and start piling on-scene reports with obnoxious federal documents. "You look like you could use some pie. It's pecan tonight, no cooked fruit whatsoever."

"I ate before you came," she replies and you know she is trying to back out of being alone with you.

"And I got here four hours ago. That means it's time for a refill," you reply as you start tugging your sleeves down, which had long ago been rolled up for your ensuing battle with paperwork.

She remains silent and you feel her watching your every move and something about her gaze makes you still your movements and remain seated, your blazer still decorating the back of the stool. You meet her eyes and find that she is studying you, devoting the same care as if it were only your facial bones she were examining.

"I came by last night. This morning actually. It was two a.m." It's not an accusation, merely a statement of facts. You swallow. You were at Jen's, in her bed, curled tightly around her. Bones finally reaches out to you and you aren't there. _Great work, idiot_.

"What did you come by for?" your voice sounds surprisingly calm, despite your guilt.

She shrugs and you frown. "It's not important now."

"Bones, it had to be something if you drove all the way to my house at two in the morning."

"I knocked. You usually answer when I knock. Then I tried your cell. But it went straight to voicemail. I deduced that you were at Jennifer's and did not want to be disturbed."

You unconsciously wince a little, not wanting her to refer at all to your… _nightly activities_ with Jen. Simply by the faint smile that graces her face you know this is the exact direction she is about to take.

"You appear to be very fulfilled lately, less tense, you smile more. It's good to see you happy, Booth." She says the last part wistfully and you want to read more into it, but deny yourself the opportunity. You don't want to talk about this with her. It doesn't seem right somehow. Stretching your legs in front of you and crossing your arms, you sigh and let your gaze fall to the floor.

"Bones, don't -," you falter, searching for the correct words. "Don't say things like that. We're just dating, that's all."

She nods, but as your eyes find hers, you catch a glimpse into her mind, that she's sad and lost. "Everyone says you're perfect together. I don't quite understand what that means, but from your interactions with each other, it appears that you care very deeply for one another."

You clear your voice; this is starting to get very uncomfortable. There is a question that is waiting to be asked and it hangs in the air like a blanket over you both. You wonder silently, which saint you angered this morning to deserve such a confrontation with your partner. It was never supposed to be this difficult.

You and Jen just sort of… happened. A field trip led to a late night work session that ended in coffee and pie. She ate your pie. You both went again at the end of the week in celebration of successfully ending your second official case together and by the middle of the following week you were going on a date with her. It wasn't hard. There were no insurmountable fears to overcome, ex-cons or dead mothers. She simply made you laugh and feel wanted.

Then you realize your error. What you neglected to think about in all this. You could no longer be that man for Bones - the man who opens his door at 2 a.m. to listen to her nightmares and provide her with quiet confidence. You can't be that man anymore. Not if you are going to be the man you want to be for Jen.

Her head is tipped to the side and she can see your apparent inner-debate. She's learned to read you well and knows that even if she can't understand everyone, she can at least attempt to understand you. And she's right. Most of the time.

"I don't think we should be talking about my relationship with Jen," you manage say.

She takes in your words and her jaw clenches. You know that look. It makes you nervous when she has it fixed on other people, but now, now it's focused on you.

The quiet between you is deafening. When she finally speaks, her voice sounds small and uncertain.

"What about the line?" her head is still tipped to the side, and you wonder if she's gauging your response. You had a list of responses thought up in case this situation ever arose. There was a part of you that never thought it would, but there was a bigger part of you that almost hoped for it.

"Bones," you sound defeated, not strong like you wish. "That's not what this is about," you say quietly, but stop when she pushes off from the opposing table, taking a step closer to you. Somewhere along the way, she's freed her hair and it falls over her shoulders in waves, richly framing her face. Her eyes aren't so clear now, but like the sky they have darkened with the late hour.

Your breath catches in your throat as her long, nimble fingers trace your sternocleidomastoid, and rest on your carotid artery. Your pulse point. Her thumb rubs lightly along the stubble of your jaw as her fingers detect the subtle throb of your blood moving beneath the skin, encircled by miles of vessels. You smell the soft scent of her perfume on her wrist and the latex from her discarded gloves on her hands. Two smells that are distinctly her.

When she speaks, it's barely a whisper, but her voice is husky and you feel the heat crawling up your skin, waging war with the goosebumps her fingers are leaving upon your neck.

"When you try to evade the truth, your heart rate always speeds up and it becomes particularly noticeable right… here," the last word is said as she lightly taps your neck and steps away.

You remember to breathe again and find that when you next open your eyes she is already halfway across the platform, unbuttoning her lab coat.

"Bones, —"

"You should see if Jennifer wants to meet us at the diner. She has an unnatural appetite for pie," she tosses over her shoulder as she walks towards her office.

Completely dumbfounded, you stare after her with your jaw slightly agape. You know what she is doing. She's moving aside. This is her way of acknowledging your right to be happy. But it's also her way of letting you in – not all the way, not to where you were before, but to the best of her ability.

Shuddering, you pull on your jacket and sigh to yourself, pulling out your cell phone to call Jen. Your fingers follow the same path that your partner left behind, somehow expecting to find a fire trail.

As you hear Jen's voice on the other line, you sigh to yourself and watch as Bones shuts off the lights in her office, waiting as you cross the platform. That moment you both shared is going to follow you for the next few days. Weeks even. You ask Jen to meet you at the Royal Diner in ten and she complies. Thrusting your phone into your pocket, your hand finds itself resting on the small of her back.

She looks at you cryptically with a ghost of a smile on her lips. Smiling back at her, you are both engulfed by the night air. As you walk to your SUV, your mind replays that scene over and over again and you keep feeling that same breathlessness as before.

Somehow, someway, it had been one of the single most erotic moments of your life. It's like you just took a bite of that fated piece of fruit and now, you want to know more. Feel more. Have more.


	2. Stunted Emotions

Chapter 2: Stunted Emotions

Story: Pulse Point

Spoilers: Up through The Man in the Outhouse

Rating: K+

Pairing: B/B

Disclaimer: not mine.

A/N: Okay, I wasn't initially planning to set the story up this way. The first part was just going to be a one-shot. But I'm interested in seeing how well this all can get relayed 2nd person. Let me know how it goes. Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed. This is a very kind fandom :)

-+-+-+-+

Stunted Emotions

-+-+-+-+

Your meetings are always brief. Nothing more than fifteen minutes. You always meet in various locations, always outside. Rain or shine. You've found over the last two and a half weeks that you both are quite similar. He pretends to be gruff and abrupt, but past all that, he's got a soft spot for chocolate-covered pretzels and paintings of sunflowers.

At first you were hesitant. You've had no prolonged interaction with this man and all other encounters have been relatively unpleasant and abrupt. He repeatedly informs you that this matter is being handled to the best of their ability, that the information you're providing will save innocent lives and bring guilty men to justice.

It's painful though. You've been able to label the emotion you feel when drawing upon your experience in Uganda, and you find that you'd rather just leave the whole disaster buried somewhere dark and hidden in the recesses of your mind. But, he keeps asking you questions, nothing too invasive, but today his questions are more direct, and you are certain he knows more than he's been letting on.

Even though it's November, it's warm outside, as the D.C. weather has grown increasingly unpredictable over the past few years. You sympathize when he wipes his brow and removes his suit jacket, draping it across the bench as you both sit in the shade. A tape recorder sits between you and he's pressed the stop button. He's looking at the fountain, watching as several pant legs are rolled up and shoes are discarded for the cool reprieve the water provides.

"I was the SAC for that region in 2001. We'd had several instances of non-nationals getting abducted by the LRA – missionaries, medical professionals, even two U.N. officials. It was an incredibly hostile environment, Dr. Brennan, one that I would not willingly submit myself to again."

"I understand, sir. But that was seven years ago. Much has changed, it is considerably safer there."

"Safer for whom, exactly? That refugee camp was set on fire days after you left. And to be quite honest I'm lucky to be sitting here with you right now, considering the state you were in when you were evacuated."

Silence follows this admission. You weren't certain of the fate of the refugee camp, but knowing that fire engulfed the sun-baked huts does nothing to sooth your already guilt-ridden conscience. He realizes his faux-pas and lays a tentative hand on your forearm, but you withdraw, unwilling to take the gesture. Those people died because of you. Because of your actions.

"Were there," you struggle with the words. There are no tears in your eyes, but your larynx has started to constrict making breathing and talking somewhat difficult. Clearing your voice, you speak again, more firmly this time. "Were there survivors?"

He nods, offering no headcount and takes a look at his watch. Three minutes remain. He appears to have more to say, but is uncertain of how to address the matter.

"To hell with it," he mumbles to himself, losing his battle. "You aren't supposed to know all this, but your doctor friend - he's okay. I'm not sure about his family, but I _do_ know that he's being kept safely near Kampala. What you did, what you _both_ did, was very stupid. But it was also very brave. Our primary goal right now is to get in and get out before any more blood is spilled."

You nod again and bite your lip. Lunch break is ending. Bags are gathered and waves are given as different directions are taken to various buildings nearby.

He stands suddenly and you can see the strain present in his upper shoulders and neck, that he must have suffered a low back injury at some point in time, and that he favors his left leg. He's already gotten his coat on while you've been pondering his past injuries. Standing, you hand him the tape recorder, silently hoping that those tapes self-destruct in a given period of time.

Looking in his face, you see the remnants of ever-present grief marked at the corners of his eyes. The grief of a father who has lost a child. Smiles will infrequently reach his eyes; whole-hearted laughter will rarely tumble from his depths again.

Frowning to yourself, you think that although you may be broken, this man before you is shattered.

"I meant to ask, how is your injury?" he asks, motioning to the side of his torso, beneath his ribcage. Weighing his words, you know he wants to know about _all_ your injuries, but as this was the most life threatening, he'll take what he can get.

"I get the stitches removed tomorrow. From what I can tell, it's been healing quite well, considering –"

He holds up a hand say no more, _I understand_. "Friday? Twelve fifteen, near the Navy memorial."

"Yes sir."

"Take care of yourself Dr. Brennan," he says as a farewell, but the seriousness that underlies his words is not lost on you.

Nodding, you turn the other way, passing the stragglers who prefer the outdoors much more to their current vocation.

-+-+-+-+-+

Angela is giving you that _look_ again. The one you appear too oblivious to notice, but feel all the same. She's learned not to openly worry about you, but sometimes, she forgets herself. You've tried to assuage her fears, by telling her about your trip, by assuring her that you're trying not to laugh because your pants are too tight (though you've lost weight), and not that the stitches pull at your skin, the muscles still trying to repair fiber by fiber.

Seeking the refuge of your office, you walk in to find a manila envelope sitting on your desk. Over the past couple of years, wariness of all packages has seeped into your subconscious. Taking a pair of gloves from your coat and pulling them on, you examine the envelope carefully, looking for traces of white powder or any harmful substance.

It is addressed to you from New York City, and you immediately know the contents of the heavy package. You open it unceremoniously and slide the contents out upon your desk, plucking at the simple note resting on top. As you read, you neglect to notice the sounds of her footsteps in your office. She patiently waits for you to finish reading the note, and you know it's killing her, not knowing the words on the page.

Handing it over, you lift up the portfolio and take a deep breath. This is what you risked your life, several lives for. Opening the cover you can't help but smile at the pictures contained within. It's a collection of images, taken over the course of a month by a photojournalist who once went to school with you and Angela.

_B-_

_Hope these find you in one piece. I have some news to share with you, but won't be able to get away until next week. Don't forget, you still owe me dinner. It had better be a date this time._

_-Brian_

Angela finishes reading the note aloud and looks at you for clarification. You nod at her curious look and she smiles immediately. Grabbing your arm, she pulls you to the couch and you both plop down, instantly engrossed in the photographs.

"So did he follow you around or what? I don't understand."

"I ran into Brian the first few days when we were in Kampala and he said he had a few weeks off and couldn't decide whether he wanted to go exploring or head back to the States."

"Naturally you convinced him to go exploring."

"Actually, I said he should return to Chicago and see his family. Apparently his sister is getting married soon."

"But he stayed – oh look at this one!" Angela pointed to a black and white photo of two boys in their school uniforms climbing a tree while their apparently frustrated younger sister looked on, dismayed.

"That's Martin and Henry, and that is Emma. Those are my friend's children."

"They're absolutely adorable," said Angela as she flipped another page. "I take it Martin is the oldest?"

"Yes. He had a twin brother who died when he was two. They also had one other sibling who - " you stop talking, realizing that some things should probably not be shared. Fortunately, another page shows an image of you sitting on tree stump with Emma, clapping your hands while Martin and Henry do the same, mirroring your actions.

"They were trying to teach me a game very similar to Mary Mac. I got better once I understood their words," you say as you look at the children, marveling at how light you are compared to the darkness of their skin. Emma always used to touch your skin, peering at it closely, wondering why _God forgot to color you in_. Martin, who was almost twelve, would admonish his six-year-old sister for being so rude. Martin had seen light skinned people before; though you were the first Emma had ever seen, having never traveled into the city.

You and Angela continue to look at the rest of the book together, details and anecdotes falling across the pages as your words usher forth. Angela closes the book and places it on her lap, resting her hand on your shoulder. She smiles at you warmly, thanking you for sharing your experience with her. You don't tell her that there are more photos - photos of mass graves and torched homes, animal carcasses and abandoned vehicles. Photos of childless parents and parentless children. She watches as you stand and place the portfolio on your desk, turning to lean against it as she asks the fated question.

"So what time should I pick you up Saturday?"

"How about I call you when I'm done here?"

"Sweetie, I stopped falling for that years ago. If I wait for you to be done, we'll never go. How about I get you around nine?"

You huff and cross your arms, but nod, knowing that you won't win this debate. She wants you to come out with her this weekend, saying you both deserve a night on the town. Knowing you have no other plans, she's secured this Saturday for your adventure.

She's left your office and you can sigh loudly and openly. Sounds of laughter passing by bring your attention away from your torrent of thoughts and you see Booth and Jennifer walking towards the platform. They are both very professional at work, something everyone can appreciate after Angela and Hodgins' relationship. You can't help but notice how well they work together, how he doesn't bicker with her like he does with you, how exasperated sighs have given way to subtle chuckles and smiles.

You shake your head again, as though Angela's voice will fall out of your ears if you do it at the right angle. Her concern for you, though overbearing at times, is probably accurate in that you had never expected something like this to happen. Never thought that Booth would date someone so openly and that you would not let it affect you. He made his line, and he crossed it. _Just not with you_. But, it does affect you. At home, when you are alone.

You are absolutely, positively certain that you are fine with Booth having a girlfriend, despite what Angela thinks. Jennifer is very intelligent, she always defers to you when a case arises and is very competent in her work. You could not ask for a better colleague. Like you said the other night, she appears to make Booth very happy, and you find that his happiness is much more important to you than whether he wants to drop by Saturday night and drink a beer.

It's not like you didn't have six whole days to think about all the wrongs you would right once you were free. Six whole nights shivering in the dark from dehydration and heat exposure, that you wanted to wholeheartedly process the very unorganized feelings you had towards Booth. You swore, even in a fever-induced delirium that you would somehow manage to grasp that evasive concept of love, that what he meant to you was the closest thing you'd come to understanding it.

Six days and six nights of physical and emotional torture evaporated in six seconds. You'd returned a day early (though technically over two weeks late) and needed to pick your car up from the Jeffersonian. Walking through the doors was an odd feeling, like trying to put the right shoe on the left foot. Everything was the same, but different. You were different

You wheeled your large canvas jump bag towards your office (never did learn how it found you) glancing at the platform only to find Hodgins bent over a table, sifting through remains for particulates. Dropping your bag quietly on the floor, you walked to you desk and found an exhaustive amount of mail piled up, some of it resting on your chair. Stretching carefully, you checked your shirt to make sure it covered your arms, smoothed out the fabric and tucked your hair behind your ear.

That same laughter, a light, almost melodious voice and a deeper, baritone chuckle, brought your attention back to the platform. Your team had assembled to give Cam a mid-afternoon update. In those six seconds of observation, you used what you've learned to pick up on subtle cues of your co-workers. Angela and Hodgins no longer gave each other those subtle smiles, but looked at each other for longer periods like they're afraid it would be the last moment they'd see the other. Dr. Sweets stood between them both, fully erect and letting his posture provide the dominance that his years could not. Cam was in front of the group, pointing at the image of a partially degenerated body, apparently female, though you need to get closer to be sure of the age.

What garnered the majority of your attention was your partner. Just seeing him made those few weeks seem like it was all worth it. The chance to see him and your friends again affirmed that your actions had not been in vain. The happiness swelling in your chest was quickly squelched when you watched the woman at his side brush the side of his cheek, removing what you assumed to be lipstick. He brushed her hand away and quickly rubbed at his cheek, giving her a smirk. She was beautiful. Her cheekbones and eyes were very symmetrical, her nose was straight with a small point, lips were not too big or too small. Her long wavy hair looked like it should be light brown, but had lightened from sun-exposure. He was looking at her the way he looked at you sometimes, when you've both gotten quiet and you've forgotten why you were standing so close to one another.

The longest six seconds of your life had somehow managed to give you the most brutal assault on your limited emotions. Maybe you _were_ supposed to die, but instead, living was the torture you must suffer for your actions. No, that's irrational.

At that moment you knew he was aware of your presence. That odd sixth sense that you both seem to have for each other made him stand a bit taller, straighten his shoulders and peer around. Dr. Tate noticed the change in his demeanor and also looked around. By this time, Angela also started peering off the platform, curious as to what the FBI agent was so fidgety about.

You'd been waiting for him to spot you standing off to the side. His eyes finally met yours and you felt like the world was falling silent around you. A smile immediately consumed his features and he practically jumped over the table to get to the stairs. Angela nearly followed suit, but decided to forgo the acrobatics for a run around the table. Immediately hugs engulfed you and a breath that you weren't aware you'd been holding escaped your lips. That exact moment was why you were still alive. Why you didn't give up. That group-hug and barrage of questions is what kept you going, even when the soles of your feet were torn and bloody from the running, even when you couldn't see straight for the pain.

Later, after the reality set in that you were back, you learned what happened during your absence. Hodgins had two wayward experiments in which one eyebrow was lost, Angela was once again single and was thinking of having an exhibit at a nearby gallery, Cam was trying to publish two articles and had recently been on her first good date in months. Sweets had a vested interest in their forensic work and continued his consults, even though his observation halted when you left. Booth received a prestigious award a few weeks ago and Parker's birthday was that weekend. Dr. Tate, Jennifer, as she insisted on being called, was settled and finding that she was quite fond of D.C.

You took all of this in stride, gave them all perfunctory responses to their questions, and managed to somehow avoid answering that inevitable question of why your trip was extended. Angela managed to give you a warning that Booth and Dr. Tate, Jennifer, were dating and that she'd be sure to call you about it that evening. Booth appeared to want to stay longer and talk with you, go over the past couple months, but he had to pick up Parker from the dentist.

Your welcoming had been everything you imagined it to be. Things quickly returned to normal around the lab and due to your silence on the matter, no one asked you too many questions about your trip.

Simply wanting to put everything in its right place, you started talking to Angela about Hodgins, you encouraged Cam with her papers – even offering to edit them, Hodgins got to come out in the field more when you had a case with Booth (you rationalized that he knew better what to retrieve from the scene; it had nothing to do with being alone with Booth). Sweets held back from his observation, but you could tell he noticed a change in your dynamic. _Everyone_ could tell there was a change in your dynamic.

Now, you're spinning around in your chair. You close your eyes and try to push it all down. Your meeting with Cullen earlier is not helping with your compartmentalization process. All the emotions want to surface, but you refuse to let them out. They belong hidden, deep within your mind, no longer in your heart.

That way, they cannot escape. Nothing can escape. And you cannot get hurt.


	3. A Fine Mess

Chapter 3: A Fine Mess

Title: Pulse Point

Rating: K+

Pairing: B/B

Summary: Even though you've never really considered yourself friends, you want to reach out to her.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: I should explain this before y'all read further. I am trying to relay this story as it unfolds for the characters. It will principally be done from B/B pov, but at times, there will be others in order to further the plot along. Also, you're all clueless as to what is going on. I am doing this on purpose. I want you to feel the same way everyone else feels with all the mystery and confidentiality surrounding Brennan's trip. That being said, this chapter will tease you in that regard. Next chap will be more B/B oriented. And no, pulse points will not be incorporated throughout the story, but there is a reason for them. Do pay attention to tense in these chaps, this is key.

As always, thanks for reading, I appreciate the reviews.

-+-+-+-+-+

A Fine Mess

-+-+-+-+-+

"Dr. Brennan, to what do I owe the pleasure at _seven_ in the morning?" your sarcasm flew over her head as she walked over to your desk.

"These are some forms I need you to sign," she stood before you, waiting for your open hands. But they didn't open. You were confused.

"No need, I already signed the medical release forms, you're cleared to work strictly in the lab for the next two weeks per international travel protocol. "

"Thank you, but there are more."

"What more could the Jeffersonian have? It took two hours to fill out the regular paperwork."

"Here," she placed the folder on your desk and took a seat in the chair, waiting for you to begin.

First glance told you that they were federal forms. Ah, right. You forgot the F.B.I. would want her cleared as well. Maybe you shouldn't approve her next request to go abroad. This will take at least 45 minutes.

As you opened the dark brown folder your eye fell on the declassified heading and continued to read. It was a memo to you from Deputy Director Cullen. Booth's boss. After scanning the memo you looked to Dr. Brennan for clarification.

"I don't understand. These are non-disclosure forms. What am I not supposed to be disclosing?"

"Basically, any information indicating that I was in Uganda for the past two months."

"_Why _exactly?"

"I cannot answer that question. It just means, that if you get a call from the Washington Post or New York Times asking what I was doing just tell them that I was granted two months leave and your knowledge does not extend to any of my activities."

You crossed your arms and placed them on your desk. You knew you weren't a people person, and you knew she couldn't communicate on a normal level. But somewhere, somehow, you needed to know what was going on.

"Is there a reason for them to call me?"

"All I can say is that currently, certain matters are being handled by our government and need to remain classified. That and my safety are at stake."

"What does your safety have to do with the Post doing a half page article on you identifying twenty bodies in northwest Uganda?"

"Cam," she sad firmly. "There can be no indication that I was there. None."

The statement hangs in the air and you've realized that she managed to get in trouble again. But this time, she needed the U.S. government to dig her out of the mess she made. The fact that it was classified was not helping matters.

You began to examine her as she sat across from you, not as her boss, but as a doctor. Her skin was uncharacteristically tan, she was thinner – almost too thin, her arms and legs were covered, making it difficult to check her skin for any injuries. She sat ramrod straight, as though anything else would be uncomfortable. You wanted to look more, but she was returning your scrutiny and it was becoming difficult.

Emitting a sigh, you picked up your pen and read the document before you. It was a form indicating that you would not disclose any information with regards to Dr. Brennan's whereabouts to any unauthorized individual. The second sheet was along the same lines, but in a different form of legalese. The third and fourth dealt with medical issues. She was not to enter the field for fourteen days in compliance with Jeffersonian protocol. This quarantine existed to limit the amount of people with whom she came in contact, in case she returned infected.

"Why does this form state that you must be cleared by a doctor before entering the field? That's only necessary if you are injured."

She looked at you and you realized that you answered your own question. The whole situation was getting increasingly shady.

"To what extent are your injuries?"

"Is that pertinent?"

She had you. Not really. _Unless_, "will any of your injuries prevent you from doing your job?"

"In the lab? No. However, most fieldwork will be difficult for the next two to three weeks."

"This form says you possibly contracted malaria. Is that true?"

"The possibility exists but it has not been confirmed."

"Why not?"

"My symptoms could have been secondary to my injuries."

Her behavior was getting frustrating. You didn't like putting your name to things without being at least semi-aware to what you were agreeing.

"_Right_. Those elusive injuries." Another sheet down. Two more to go.

Before you signed another, you looked up at her as she scanned the books on your shelf. You didn't like not knowing what was going on. And why couldn't you know what happened? She was your employee; you had a right to know.

"Look, I'm not asking for a detailed description or anything, but I'd just like to know one thing."

"Yes?"

"Were you badly injured?"

She seemed to weigh your words and nodded, without verbally responding. Perhaps that was classified too. You had more questions to ask, but her only response was that she needed to return the forms as soon as possible. Begrudgingly, you penned your name and watched as she stacked them neatly in the folder.

"Thank you."

"Dr. Brennan?" she stopped upon the threshold of your office, looking back at you. "Welcome back." She gave you a sad smile and nodded, walking quickly back to her office.

Since then, over the past two and a half weeks, you've studied her. You've watched her movements and her behavior. She's been incredibly guarded. There is a slight change in her gait. She doesn't put all of her weight on her right foot. And she still has not regained any of the weight she's lost.

Even though you've never really considered yourself friends, you want to reach out to her. You want to bring her into your home and give her some comfortable pajamas and a facial like you and your sister do once a month. You want to know what goes on in her mind when she zones out over the exam table. More than anything, you want to give her partner an answer as he looks at you dolefully through the dim light of your office.

"She went with me and Jen two nights ago to the diner. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. But, something is still off. She won't…" he stops and fidgets a bit. "She won't talk to me anymore. Do you think it's because of me and Jen?"

You want to yell at him. To tell him to get his head out of the clouds and realize that this has nothing to do with him and Jen. Well, maybe a little bit. But for the most part, it has nothing to do with him. He's just been too preoccupied to notice.

"Seeley, she's been back for nearly three weeks. If there were something wrong, shouldn't you have picked up on it by now?" Your voice betrays your frustration with his blindness. He used to be so in tune with her every mood, but now, it's like he's reading Greek.

Admittedly, it's not completely his fault. The case on which he and Jen were working wrapped up the day of Dr. Brennan's return. They did not have another case for eight days after. Only once did he come by during that time and it was to pick Jen up for lunch. The next case he had to work with Jen due to Dr. Brennan not being cleared for fieldwork. Now she's free, and he's able to ascertain that his initial suspicions are correct.

"I'm not stupid. I know something's wrong. But I can't figure out how to fix it."

You're completely confused. Does he really have no idea what's going on?

"Have you…" you're probably committing some violation by bringing this up with him, but you do it anyway. "Have you talked to her about her trip at all?"

"Yeah, of course. She told me about all the crazy animals and about the excavation site. I got to see a couple pictures of her friend's kids."

You remain silent, but look at him pointedly.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing that you shouldn't have figured out for yourself already."

"Did something happen? Did she get hurt?"

"Ask her yourself."

"Cam - "

"I mean it. The only straight answer you're going to get is from her."

He looks at you not as a friend but as an interrogator and you know he wants to lock the door and get information out of you. Thousands of scenarios are running through his head at this point and you can see all the possibilities written on his face. Most people remark that he is hard to read; yet you've found it unnaturally easy to interpret his thoughts. Standing, he walks out of your office and you hesitantly follow, watching as he scans his card and steps onto the platform.

He simply stands there, watching her for a few moments, and you can tell that slowly but surely, he is realizing the bigger picture. What he took to be her reluctance and overall aloofness with regards to his current relationship, he is beginning to rethink. His mind is probably going over all their encounters over the past few weeks, trying to pick out what clues he missed, what she told him when he wasn't paying attention. You hope he doesn't blame himself. Inevitably he will though.

"Bones!" he says brightly as he walks over to the exam table, peering over at her as she pours over remains. "Let's get some lunch. I need sustenance."

She doesn't answer and you know she's in the infamous observation mode in which it's just her and the objects before her. He walks closer and claps his hands, breaking her from her near trance.

A phone call breaks you from the scene before you. Turning on your heel, you walk to your desk and pick up the receiver.

"Dr. Saroyan."

"Yes, this is David Campbell with Associated Press, I was wondering if you could give a statement regarding Dr. Brennan's involvement in the current political upheaval in Uganda."

"I'm sorry?"

"I have information from two sources stating that Dr. Brennan and another colleague played pivotal rolls resulting in the current coup that is being staged."

"I have no information to give you. Try reaching Dr. Brennan, I'm sure she will be more helpful."

"She will not comment."

"Then neither will I nor the Jeffersonian. Thank you," and you hang up the phone. That was the third call in as many days. Walking back to your door, you watch as Dr. Brennan seems to agree with whatever Seeley is saying, smiling at him and removing her lab coat. Apparently she needs sustenance as well.

As they debark from the platform, you wonder at your last phone call. Nothing official has been leaked regarding the last two months. But you're beginning to think something big is about to happen.

Why is it that wherever she goes, trouble seems to follow? A fine mess this is.

-+-+-+-+

A/N: Do I have your interest piqued? Hope so.


	4. The Pursuit

Chapter 4: The Pursuit

Title: Pulse Point

Rating: K+

Pairing; B/B

Spoilers: Up to Finger in the Nest

Summary: Watching her walk away is always tough, but now, you have this inexplicable desire to follow her.

A/N: Not sure if I like this chapter. It's hard trying to express how torn Booth is from the way I'm writing him. Hopefully it gets conveyed to you fine people. And don't worry, next chapter will give you some more insight on the mystery trip of doom.

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed, it definitely keeps me going.

-+-+-+-+-+

The Pursuit

-+-+-+-+-+

The cool metal of the gun is quickly warming beneath your grip. Looking down the barrel of your glock, your eyes meet those of the man you and Bones have been searching this abandoned warehouse for. He is in his early thirties, muscular and currently has your partner in a vice grip, clearly not willing to part. His gun is aimed at her temple and he is yelling these words, but you can't seem to make sense of any of it.

Realizing that he is speaking in Russian helps a bit. More than anything you're glad that she's okay. Finally she mumbles something and the guy pauses, listening to her words. He responds and seems to be calming a bit. Wait a second. How many languages does she know?

"Booth, lower your weapon, he says you're making him nervous."

"I'll lower mine when he lowers his."

She speaks again and he seems to contemplate for a moment, she says something else, and he nods. Finally, he begins to lower his gun. Mirroring his actions, you point towards the ground, waiting to see what will happen.

"He thinks we've come here to take him to jail. He has no idea where his wife is. She disappeared ten days ago after he left for work."

"Well tell him we aren't here to take him to jail, but that we do have some bad news for him."

The discourse continues for nearly ten minutes. He agrees to come in as long as no cuffs are used. You doubt they'd fit around those meaty fists of his anyway. Regardless, you're still irritated. Why'd she have to leave your side? She's always doing that. Life would be so much easier if she'd just listen to you and stay close.

Later that morning, when the man is interrogated with the aid of an official Russian translator, you decide he's useless. The whole case is going nowhere and you're getting frustrated. It also doesn't help that you can't get anything out of Bones. Over the past two days, things seem to have gotten better between you both, but there's no specific reason for it, nothing to highlight the fact that she's just returned to field duty.

Maybe it just took some time to get your stride, understandable with all the change going on in her absence. Unfortunately, she still won't talk to you about her trip. Nothing more than the basics, and you have those memorized by now. She's been back with you for officially four days and in that amount of time you've realized that she's hiding something, she got hurt, and whatever happened, it was big.

The last part you deduce after an early afternoon of making some phone calls. How better to spend a Friday, when you could be filing last minute reports and sailing out of work at the ripe time of 1500? First, you try your buddy Gary who is the chief liaison for the agents working in Africa. You got a "Sorry, Booth, but that's a need to know only file. Check with Agarano in the Kenya office, he's the SAC for that region." You get a surprisingly prompt response from Agarano, considering the late time where he is and once again you are met with a _need to know_. Clearly, if you're asking, it is a need to know situation.

You receive two more responses that mimic the first and you finally realize that this matter is more important than you imagined. You scan the newspapers, both domestic and international, and absorb the information you had previously skimmed over. There are blurbs here and there about Uganda, but nothing to draw attention to it other than general political issues, which seem to be an on-going theme everywhere. Printing out several articles, you stuff them into your briefcase and figure you can review them at home.

You don't have Parker this weekend, you get him most of next week so Rebecca can go take care of her sister who is getting a double mastectomy on Tuesday. It's been a touchy issue lately, and you know she can't help but wonder about herself as well. Though you can't personally do the inspection, it appears she's very… _healthy_. Moving along, you realize that at some point in time, Jen is going to have to hang out with your son this week. He is the most important person in your life, right before Bones and – wait.

Before your thought process can carry you in that direction, you see your boss walking to your office holding a stack of folders and adorned with that no-nonsense frown he's had of late.

"Sir? Wasn't expecting you today," you state as Cullen walks into your office and plops down tiredly in front of you. He looks exhausted. Defeated even.

"Yeah, had a meeting down the hall with Rob's guys. Shady bunch they are. Not sure if I like 'em all that much."

"Liking them isn't the issue though, it's _trusting their abilities_, right?" you ask as you swivel back and forth slightly. Rob's men do special ops things, go deep and resurface months later looking more like the nationals than your own coworkers. Looking at Cullen you wonder the reason for this impromptu visit. Rarely does he come to your office. It's odd, the change in positioning. You feel like he's come to you for a favor.

"That's exactly what it's all about. And so far, they've done a fair job, so I can't complain. They get in and get out, no questions asked."

You're still not sure what he's doing here but you're realizing that he's about to make a point. Did you forget to send him the reports he asked for? He needed four cases completed and on his desk by 8 am this morning. You hoped you actually remembered the fourth; last night was a frantic scurry of typing and documenting 'til the wee hours.

"Is there something you wanted, sir?"

Cullen seemed to be thinking about being somewhere far away. Far enough to get out of this mess. Looking back at you, he seemed to remember why he dropped by.

"Got your reports this morning. Outstanding work. Amazing what you can throw together in one night, Agent Booth."

You laugh nervously, not sure if he was complimenting you or just making you aware that you were treading a fine line.

"Thank you, sir."

"That's not what I came here for, though. I have been alerted that you've been investigating an affair that is currently active and hot."

"Are you referring to Dr. Brennan?"

"I'm not referring to anything explicit, but I'm here to tell you that you need to quit. Two separate agents have notified you that you are not authorized on this case; there is a reason for that. Give it a week, everything should have blown over in that time."

"Sir, if whatever is going has something to do with my squint, I should have the right to know. Especially if the press is starting to get involved."

"Your squint is in the best capable hands, trust me. And to be honest, you _don't_ have the right to know. She does her job with you efficiently and effectively and nothing that happened in Uganda has any bearing on her current work. With regards to the press, we've managed thus far, I think we can make it a little further."

"So you are confirming that something happened in Uganda."

"Dammit Booth. Just knock it off okay? This is a very… delicate matter and we are tightrope walking to keep it all in line. So please, do what's best for you and your partner and back off."

"What if she tells me?"

"She won't. Not until it hits the fan or it blows over will you know anything about what happened."

He says a few more words and mumbles a farewell, leaving you to your own devices. You start to feel guilty about the articles you just printed out, but you remember that those are public knowledge and there is no harm in knowing what the rest of the world already knows. Your phone starts to ring and glancing at it you see Bones is delivering what you hope to be some good news on this case.

-+-+-+-+-+

"I can't believe that got wrapped up in the span of three hours. Amazing," you say happily as you sit back on Bones' couch, smiling at the change of events. She's grinning at you as she takes a seat in her chair, waking up her computer from hibernation.

"Yes, well I think that was augmented by your questioning of the cousin. It was very… _direct_," she says this as she's bending over in her chair picking up a pen she's dropped. You hear a sharp gasp from beneath her desk and lean forward a bit on the couch.

"You okay there, Bones? Searching for pens is a hazardous job," you say glibly as she returns to an upright position, her hair shielding her face from view. She doesn't respond and you quickly grow cautious.

"Bones?"

"Yes?" her voice sounds strained. You stand up and walk a little closer to her desk, wondering if she's all right.

"Are you ever going to tell me what really happened?" the words come out of your mouth before you even have a chance to censor them. If you were the type for covering you mouth and running for cover, now would be the time.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, her gaze is still fixed on her lap. Her posture is remarkably straight, you note unconsciously. It's almost how yours was after you'd been shot. It was always hard to get comfortable and to get that good, solid breath you never seemed to find. You begin to wonder about all the possibilities, but stop yourself before you can freak out.

"I already told you what happened, Booth."

"No, you told me what you want everyone to think happened. I want the real story."

She's silent but looks towards her computer and you can tell she swipes her eyes, removing any traces of moisture from them. She used to cry in front of you. She used to let you see her afraid. Now all she lets you see is what she shows everyone else. The loss is becoming more glaring by the day. Especially now that you've steadily let her regain the role she once held in your life. Best friend, confidant, partner.

"Even if I could tell you, I'm not sure I would."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd be angry with me," she's very honest with you. And you can't imagine what she could have done to make you angry with her.

"As angry as you were with me when you thought I died and didn't tell you I was alive?" you say it lightly, but there is a seriousness there that you can tell she picks up on.

"Close. Very close."

Rubbing your hand through your hair, you sigh loudly and walk back to the couch, sitting dejectedly in the middle. You quiet the urge to ask her to come sit by you so you can grab her hand and kiss her hair. You quiet the urge because you know it is not right to do such things when you have a girlfriend. This girlfriend is the reason why you realized a life with Bones would never work out.

Jen got divorced a year ago. She'd met her ex-husband in her graduate program and they fell in love despite the fact that she was a good catholic girl and he was a stubborn atheist. She wanted kids and he wanted prestige. She wanted to get married but he didn't want to be tied down. But they loved each other. They thought that would be enough. He relented on getting married. Soon after, the many differences they had, chipped away at the intense love they felt for one another. Their marriage lasted three brief years in which they'd had a lot of good times, but ultimately they couldn't make it work.

The fact that her story mirrors your relationship with Bones is not lost on you. Before she left for Uganda, you had nearly worked up the courage to take the plunge, to finally express your feelings for her. She seemed to be in the right place, the right frame of mind to finally receive the ardent emotions you wanted to express. However, the night before she left, you'd had a blazing row over nothing consequential and your courage was replaced by frustration and anger.

"You know, I agreed to go on that trip when you were dead," she states plainly, as though you were expecting this conversation to arise and your death is a common occurrence. When you don't respond, she continues. "Initially, I was supposed to go at the end of May. But then everything happened with you - and with Zack. Before I knew it, I pushed back the trip two more months. It didn't seem nearly as important to get away, even though I needed a break from everything."

She stops and you wonder if she's done speaking, done letting you in on the endless stream of thoughts running through her head. She merely rises from her chair and walks over to where you are and sits in the chair nearest you. "When I came back, all I wanted was for everything to be the same as I'd left it. Instead, it was like everyone not only returned to their normal lives, but they completely moved on without me."

"You were gone for two months, what did you expect?" you're slightly defensive here because you can't help but feel like the blame falls mainly on you.

She looks up at you quickly, and the moment is lost. Returning her gaze stubbornly to the floor she shuts down. Damn. You thought you were actually getting somewhere with her. Since when does she completely close herself off like this? She's getting up and you rise as well, grabbing her hand to turn her around and stand before her.

You have to bend slightly to peer into her eyes, drawing them upward merely with your gaze and a dash of your charm smile. Rolling her eyes and biting her lip innocently, you can feel the uncertainty coming off her in waves. Where has the strong, confident woman gone?

"Booth," she whispers so quietly that you are afraid your breathing will cover her voice. "I'm asking you as your," she pauses for a second, searching for the strength to say the next words, "as your friend and as your partner. Please don't pursue this."

She is referring to her trip, but you can't help but read further into her words. What else does she not want you to pursue? You're standing close enough that you can discern the way her eyes focus on each of yours, waffling back at forth in their search for your confidence. The fear and insecurity that are evident in the pale blueness that look back at you almost take your breath away.

Her hands are still on your chest, the pressure is light, as though she is feeling you out in the dark. Without thinking, your hands move up to capture hers in your own, pulling her even closer to you. Finally, after three weeks of staying away, of doing what you thought was the right thing, you allow yourself to simply feel. You wrap her arms around your neck and your arms encircle her small waist, holding her tightly to you.

Breathing her in, you feel the familiarity of her presence wash over you, something you weren't aware you'd been missing; like the smell of home when you've been gone a long time. You know she is fighting hard not to cry because her breathing is labored, her shoulders are tense, and she still hasn't managed to speak again. You want her to breakdown. You want her to want you back. But she pushes away. Always.

Like she is now. Her gaze is cast downward as she pulls away and you know you've lost your moment, your chance to voice your own thoughts and fears. She swallows and softy pats you on the chest once more and says a quiet, "goodnight." Watching her walk away is always tough, but now, you have this inexplicable desire to follow her.

"Hey Bones? Thai food while we write our reports?" and when she turns to look back at you, she has a smile that almost reaches her eyes this time. Slowly, she's coming back to you.


	5. Dying Breath

Title: Pulse Point

Rating: K+

Pairing: B/B (I promise)

Summary: The way Booth is looking at you almost makes you stop in your tracks.

A/N: So this is a huge chapter. It is supposed to touch on Brennan's trip, what happened and such. But you are still supposed to be confused. Just… less so. Also, this chapter is rather intense, but don't worry, next one is light and short. Thanks again for the reviews, they make this craziness worth it.

-+-+-+-+-+

Dying Breath

-+-+-+-+-+

You are not scared. You are not tired. You are not weak. You are a brave, confident, independent woman. Yet, you are sitting on the floor in your walk-in closet with your head against the wall, hating your life.

You can't get warm, you don't sleep well - if at all, the only thing you've found that doesn't make you nauseas and vomit is oatmeal or rice and you aren't sure you can handle another bite. You can't gain weight, you can't talk to your friends, and you can't smile because nothing is worth smiling about.

There needs to be some method for turning off your brain, because your thoughts are plaguing your every waking moment. You still feel immense guilt, extreme sorrow, and incredible fear. You figured by some point, these feelings would have gotten processed by now, but instead, they sit on the back burner, waiting to boil over at the wrong moment. It'll most likely be at an inappropriate time, and you'll be arguing with Booth. You _will _do something illogical.

When you were younger - in the foster system, you used to hide in the closet in whatever home you were placed. Sometimes you were sitting on suitcases or shoes, others you could barely fit. But the smell was pretty similar to the way it smelt at home, and you would simply close your eyes and feel a sense of calm as you sat crammed into a dark corner, cold and alone. Now, you're in your own home and you're in here because it's quiet and your thoughts don't seem as harsh in here.

Taking a deep breath, you take stock of what's going on in your life. Your weekend consisted of rewriting chapters of your newest book, trying to get everything finished for the deadline your editor set for Monday. The thing is, your heart isn't in it right now. None of the words seem to fit and the plot doesn't seem to jive. You'd be much happier launching your laptop out the window and watching it smash into a thousand pieces.

Russ and the girls came over Saturday afternoon. It was the first time since you've been back that you've truly enjoyed yourself. There were no co-workers looking at you cautiously, no Booth to make you uneasy, just your family – as tattered and patched together as it may be. Russ suggested that you all go to the Mall and enjoy the last traces of Autumn before the bleak winter set in. He had a Frisbee, and you had a blanket. The girls' laughter was infectious as you watched them run in circles, chasing each other. You and Russ reminisced about your childhood, and you told him about the more interesting aspects of your work while he shared that he and Amy were finally getting married. Though he was worried about you, he hid it well, knowing you'd grow frustrated with his pestering. Later that night, the girls helped you select ingredients for homemade pizza and then a nice stroll for ice cream sundaes followed, debating jovially whose sundae tasted better (Emma has a keen sense for dessert).

You have to be at work in four hours and you so desperately want sleep. You'll settle for an hour even. But every time you close your eyes, images flood your brain and unbound thoughts wreak havoc on your mind. Images of that boy, right before the life left his eyes; sounds of the men who held you captive, arguing in a language you were not familiar with; the feel of the metal bars all around you, compressing your long body into a space too small for you to sit up straight or to lie down.

Lately, you've taken to sleeping on the floor, with your arms and legs outstretched as though you were a starfish. It was the one thing you dreamt of being able to do, if you ever got free, and now you spend hours at a time lying languidly on the floor, relishing the feel of nothingness within your reach.

They lost you. The U.S. government lost you. That's the best way to describe what happened. You fell off the grid and no one knew what happened. One minute you were helping Sonja, your colleague John's wife, search for vegetables in the local market, and the next, you had a burlap bag thrust over your head and you were knocked unconscious by the butt of someone's rifle.

Standing slowly now, because your movements are not nearly as quick as they used to be, you walk into your bathroom with a slight limp. Your right foot is almost healed - the sprained ligaments are almost ready to cooperate with the rest of your body. Taking in your appearance, you can't help but frown. Your features are sullen; the sweats you happily climbed into last night hang off your body as though you borrowed them from a slightly larger friend. Pulling your sweatshirt over your head, your eyes survey your chest and abdomen for any signs that you'd been held captive for nearly seven days. The abrasions, ligature marks, and bruises are gone now, replaced with tender skin that still remembers the wounds inflicted upon several places. Your fingers follow the dotted line that stretches from your eleventh rib laterally to just beneath your ribcage on your left side; there is another, along the midline of your abdomen as well. If the gunshot wound hadn't gotten infected, you'd have been much better off. It didn't help that it destroyed your spleen either.

You can't complain though. As you escaped in the darkness of night, with only a sliver of moon to guide you, somehow that man found you. Even now, you remember his eyes, how they were soft though the rest of him was hard. He'd been searching for you, and found you hunched over near the side of the road, covered in blood and barely clothed. Slipping in an out of consciousness, not once did he give you his name or what organization he was with. All you can remember is his light brown hair and his very real and very alive blue eyes as he ushered you into his beat up land rover. He saved your life that night; he saved it daily for days afterwards.

If you ever meet him again, you'll ask him what happened after he found you. You'll ask how you got to Germany, how doctors at the Army Hospital in Landstuhl marveled over how good the wounds looked considering the circumstances. And then you'll thank him, because even though your life doesn't seem all that great right now, it's the appropriate response.

Shedding the rest of your clothing, you glance at your back and are thankful that those bruises have finally vanished; though there is still an abrasion on your upper thigh that seems too stubborn to dissipate. You step into the shower and let the water pelt down on you, washing away the rawness that you feel, combining with your tears as they run down your skin and eventually down the drain.

-+-+-+-+-+

"Bren, sweetie, you need to get ready," Angela commands as she walks into your office. You're eyes are transfixed on the screen, fingers typing madly across the keyboard. After all this time, you've finally gotten over your writer's block only to have the deadline inching closer by the minute. And that damn gala.

"Ange, I will finance that art gallery you've always wanted if you go for me tonight," you say as you delete a paragraph and replace it with more concise, accurate lines.

"Nice try. I already paid my dues last month at the Donor's Banquet, which you so cleverly planned to be out of the country for. Cam told me all you need to do is smile, talk to the senators who support our work and oblige when their wives ask for autographs. Take a spin on the dance floor, maybe take home a decent humanitarian, get laid, and come back tomorrow with a smile on your face."

"Not that easy."

"I was told to rip your clothes off you if you didn't comply. Cam even offered up a pair of very nice trauma scissors."

A very stubborn silence remains as you continue typing at a frenetic pace.

"Bren. I went to Crystal City. I bought you a dress. I bought you killer heels. I have make-up. I ordered your limo. Whether you help me or not, you are going to this gala."

You stop and sigh as she moves closer to you. You are being rude to Angela. She gave up her day to run all over the city to get you a dress for this blasted event you weren't even aware you were attending.

"I'm sorry Ange. I just… really do not want to go. _At all_."

"I know. But once you get that sweater off and slide into this dress and look hot, you'll thank me for it. Now scoot."

You take items and close your bathroom door behind you. As you start undressing, you mentally calculate how much time you absolutely need to spend at the gala so you can return to your book. You have until midnight. Not once have you ever missed a deadline in your life. You aren't going to start now.

"Angela!" you call out as you begin to zip up the dress.

"Yes?" she peaks in at you and smiles at your appearance.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"Rest of what?"

"The dress. There is no back."

"Sweetie, it's like that on purpose. High in the front, low in the back. Do you like how silky it feels? Very nice."

You run your hands along the smooth fabric and nod at her in the mirror as she peeks in. The dress is a dark-blue floor-length silk dress. It's understated and simple, though the low-cut in the back is unexpected.

"Angela, this is a beautiful dress."

She smiles knowingly and motions for you to sit on the stool so she can do your make-up and hair. Twenty minutes later and no one would ever guess you were just huddled over your computer like a coding addict.

"Okay, come out. We're ready for the big reveal!" said Angela.

Somehow your hair is completely up with the help of 17 hairpins and an ample amount of hairspray. Despite inwardly feeling like an owl pellet, you don't appear to reflect that sentiment. You can't help but marvel at how blue your eyes look. It certainly helps that Angela's an artist. Walking out, you're met by catcalls and whistles from Angela and Cam.

"You look absolutely gorgeous Dr. Brennan, our remaining donors will not be able to help themselves tonight."

"I bet they'd help more if someone else came with me," you say petulantly as you grab your wrap and clutch, fully intending to return here afterward and make the finishing touches on your book.

"Life is full of those unkind disparities, sorry," she offers up as she exits your office. "Don't forget our meeting in the morning," she gives you a knowing look and you nod.

Angela follows you out of your office as you come across Hodgins and Jennifer stepping off the platform. They both stop and smile as you come their way, no doubt happy that they don't have a gala to attend that evening. Hodgins looks like he's been hit by a train, and you grow concerned.

"Hodgins? Are you all right?"

He smiles weakly and says something about you having that 'look' again.

"Look?"

"You're writing again. Stunned, except now it's partnered with that death glare of forced gala attendance."

"Thanks, Hodgins."

"You do look quite lovely," says Jennifer as she looks up at you. The heels Angela selected have made you a good three inches taller than Angela, which doesn't say much for poor Hodgins and Jennifer who are shorter than you both.

"Thank you Jennifer. Angela did everything. I'm just wearing it."

"Bren, time to go. Your limo is waiting."

"If I didn't love you so much I would hate you right now," you whisper as you kiss her on the cheek and leave.

"Oh trust me, I know."

-+-+-+-+-+

"Dr. Brennan!" your name seems to be quite popular this evening as people won't stop calling it. You force another smile as you are introduced to the French Ambassador and his wife.

"Enchantez, Madame. It is quite nice to meet you, I've heard much about you," the ambassador states while his wife holds out her hand in greeting.

"Merci, Monsieur. Avez-vous un bon temps ce soir?"

"Ah, oui, oui!" he replies, happy to have found someone with whom he can converse. "Il y a une sélection excellente de vin ce soir. C'est la seule raison pourquoi je suis toujours ici."

You smile at his candor and agree to indulge in a glass of red wine with him and his wife later. Another gentleman comes up and your conversation begrudgingly returns to English while you answer questions about a dig in Tunisia. As you speak with the newcomer, your eyes fall on familiar brown ones that are watching you from across the room. You can't help the look of surprise that comes across your face. He smiles knowingly and finally walks over to your quickly growing circle.

He stands beside you as introductions are made to the other guests, he smiles politely and shakes hands like he wants to be there. When he finishes he places his hand on your back, out of habit - you aren't sure. But the touch of his palm against the bare skin of your back causes you to jump slightly and you move away slightly, his hand dropping quickly.

After a bit, you take your leave from the circle and inquire immediately as to why your partner is _here_, of all places.

"Angela told me to come. Said you needed a date."

"I do not need a date. I'm not going to be here long enough to warrant one. Besides, Jennifer doesn't mind?"

"She agreed with Angela. Plus, Hodgins said you looked hot, so I had to come see for myself and I wholeheartedly agree," he says with a charming smile, but his eyes tell something different.

You roll your eyes at the thought of Hodgins even recognizing you're a woman and try to ignore the insane need to know what your partner really thinks of your appearance.

"You _hate_ these things." People have begun dancing. You wish they would serve more than mediocre appetizers. For the first time in weeks you are actually hungry and of course, there is no food.

"As do you," he replies. You find yourself without the ability to speak. He looks very handsome this evening and you can't help but admire him out of the corner of your eye.

"How much longer do you have to stay here?" you can tell he's already tired of the stuffy atmosphere. It really isn't that bad. You've been to worse, and at least the quintet seems to know what they are playing.

"I need to speak with those two senators who seem to be giving each other disagreeable looks and apparently there is an opera singer who would love to know what I thought about China."

"Oh," he replies.

He also tends to be short on words this evening. You mention something about Parker coming to his house tomorrow and he instantly brightens. He starts to outline the activities he has planned out and it's clear he's been looking forward to this time alone with his son.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a man walking across the room and you freeze. It's _him_. He is clean-shaven now. His hair is short. But those eyes. You will never forget those eyes. He seems to have spotted you a few moments ago because now he is walking towards you and Booth.

"May I have this dance?" he asks as he holds his hand out to you. You can see Booth about to retort, but you place a hand on his arm and he quiets. "I'll be right back. Figure out what you need to do with Parker on Wednesday while I dance."

You take the stranger's hand and follow him to the dance floor; you observe how warm and strong his hand is. A waltz has begun and you smile at him. This is an 8-minute waltz by Chopin. He did this on purpose. As you begin dancing, you cannot take your eyes off him, as though your brain cannot process that he is here in front of you.

"How did you find me?"

"You're a well-known scientist, Dr. Brennan. It was not hard. I needed a public place, and this is it."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was told to return to the United States. I've been in Uganda, Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo for nearly two years."

"Were you following me?"

"I was assigned to you halfway through your trip."

"Why were we not officially introduced??"

"I was told you would be uncooperative if you were told you had someone protecting you."

"You did not do a very good job."

"I am aware. And I am truly sorry," his words are very measured and you doubt he's really sorry. He doesn't seem to express emotion often. "My being assigned to you was supposed to be a break. I had just returned from being in the bush for three months. At first I welcomed the trade of following nasty guerilla soldiers for a beautiful woman. Then you and Mayat made that discovery and it all went down hill. No one thought you would get kidnapped because of it."

You nod pensively as he deftly guides you around the dance floor. He is a skilled dancer. Questions you didn't know you were harboring are clamoring to come out. You're eyes fall briefly on Booth and he almost looks murderous. Did someone step on his toes as they passed?

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Finding me. Saving my life."

"If I had been doing my job, you wouldn't have been taken in the first place."

"You can't know that for sure." You feel awkward; feeling like you should know this man, since he knows so much about you.

"What happened, exactly?"

"I was informed that if you didn't have any direct recollection of what happened after I picked you up, that I shouldn't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Decreases risk involved."

"I know the wound got infected."

"You were septic."

"Oh." Yes, the situation was quite severe.

"You are moving quite well now. How's your ankle?"

"Well, it's not purple anymore, though I need to remove these shoes very soon."

"Understandable."

You want to keep talking, but the song is coming to a close. There are so many questions to ask, you feel it is unfair that you cannot ask them all.

"Wait. I don't even know your name."

"It's better that you don't." He's walking you towards the senator with whom you you must dance. Booth will just have to wait. You cast one more look at this man, whom you doubt you will ever see again and give him a sad smile, forming the silent words 'Thank You' with your mouth. Looking at the senator, you smile and nod as he begins to speak, carrying you around for one last waltz.

After you've broken free from all the politicos, you walk across the dance floor, searching for your partner. The way Booth is looking at you almost makes you stop in your tracks. You can't tell if it is anger or something else in his eyes, but they've grown darker somehow. Coming to a halt in front of him, your breath hitches a bit. You absently wonder if he is aware of how good he looks right now with his hands thrust in his pockets, his head tilted to the side and that look that could consume you if you'd let it. Your cheeks feel flushed from dancing and you feel a little warm. Going outside would be most preferable right now.

Reading your mind, Booth motions for the outside terrace and you smile, watching as he grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

"Did you know that guy? The uh, first one you danced with?" he asks as you walk near the balcony.

"Vaguely," you chose the truth, yet remain evasive.

"Seemed like you had a lot to talk about."

"Hmm," you say as your gaze fixes on the Potomac River and the cars streaming by in the night. Though there aren't many high buildings in the city, it is still a beautiful site to behold. Your gaze is outward, yet you feel him looking at you and it makes you self-conscious.

"What?"

He says nothing but smiles roguishly at you and turns to lean against the rail, training his eyes on the party within.

"One more senator and we can blow this popsicle stand."

"I don't know what that means."

He smiles at you and explains the phrase, then suggests that you both return inside so you can do your final rounds. You mention something about needing to finish your book and he shakes his head at you, thinking aloud how crazy you are.

Finally you command an audience with the senator who you recall majored in biochemistry when he was in college. He smiles and laughs and agrees that any necessary funds will most certainly be directed towards the Jeffersonian in the future. Booth smiles and shakes the senator's hand as you both back away.

This time, his hand is upon your back, but he won't move it. Does he have any idea what he's doing to you? Up 'til now, you almost felt immune to him, to the way he looked at you sometimes. Lately all you had to do was remind yourself that he crossed the line _and_ he did it with a co-worker. Logically this would indicate lack of interest on his part. You have since concluded that he said that in order to prevent you from developing any strong feelings for him. Too bad you proved him wrong.

But now, you aren't sure what to think. You feel the need to pay him back for the way he's been looking at you tonight. Instead of going back towards the main hall you turn quickly into a stairwell and he's completely caught off guard.

"Bones what - "

"Why did you come here tonight?" when you turn into the stairwell, you do it quickly enough to where your back ends up against the wall. By cause of momentum, Booth has to place both his hands on either side of your head against the wall. He pushes off a bit so he is standing further from you, yet you are still close. Too close.

"I told you."

"You hate these kinds of events."

"So do you."

"But you're normally required to attend. You didn't even know I had this gala_. I_ didn't even know I had this event tonight."

"Look, I dropped by to get the reports signed and you weren't there, Angela walked in and said that you were off being miserable at some function. I figure you've been glum enough lately so I thought I'd come cheer you up."

Though his words are touching, you can tell he is not telling you the full truth. Something isn't being said. You push off from the wall, wanting to sidestep him, but he anticipates you and puts his hand back against the wall, blocking you in. He is very close to you, but he's careful not to touch you. Would that be so bad? In his mind, perhaps.

"You owe me a dance," he says softly. Your eyes are fixed on each other and another step is taken making the space between you nonexistent. You can feel his breath and heat radiating off him, while the spicy, warm scent of his cologne saturates your senses. Flickering to his lips, your eyes bounce back and forth between his gaze and your ultimate destination. Suddenly, you feel a familiar tug in your stomach, and you pull back from him to lean against the wall. As you do so, you avert your gaze to the crowd of socialites in the hall and you catch sight of a particular gentleman whom you never thought you'd encounter again.

You aren't sure what part of the government he is affiliated with, but you recall meeting him briefly once you'd returned to the states. He'd been standing next to Cullen at that time, having what appeared to be a heated debate. Now he is chatting with that opera singer you've been avoiding. Glancing back at Booth, you feel as though your stomach has bottomed out. He didn't come here for you at all. Pushing him away roughly you walk into the hall and head towards the exit.

"Bones? Where are you going?"

Anger is the first thing you feel. No it's more than anger. It's fury. It's outrage. You ignore him as you collect your things, storming outside towards your limo. He grabs your arm and pulls you around to face him. It takes all your willpower not to slap him. Or punch him. You settle for pushing him hard in the chest, enough so that he takes a few steps backwards to regain his balance. The contrast from the emotions you were feeling not more than three minutes ago is dizzying.

"What the hell is going on?"

"You couldn't stop could you? Even after I asked you to stop looking into it. You didn't come here for me, Booth; you came here so you could talk to Robert Drake."

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it like? Booth? You just happen to show up at this event with a tuxedo on standby? It most certainly wasn't for me."

"Quit it. Just stop!" His words are strong and you fall silent. "Yes, I admit it. I came here to see what he would tell me. He's not known for being discreet and he was my only chance to get heads or tails of this situation." He takes a haggard breath and runs his hand through his hair, disheveling it in the process. "But honest to God, once I saw you tonight I forgot why I came here in the first place."

His words surprise you both, and you're unsure how you should react. It becomes increasingly clear why he's been looking at you like that all night, but it's all been in vain. You find yourself shaking your head and you're suddenly very tired. This situation does not help, as it grows progressively more complicated by the minute.

He takes a step forward and you hold out your hand to stop him. "Don't," you say this brusquely and you aren't sorry for it.

Since you aren't quite sure how to process everything at the moment, you think the best thing to do is to remove yourself from the situation. Especially before you do something you'll regret. When you speak again, your voice betrays the exhaustion you feel.

"Go home, Booth. Take a shower. Forget why you came. Call Jennifer and ask her about her day." He opens his mouth to say something, but your look stops him. "Just don't expect to drop by my office tomorrow and expect everything to be okay."

You walk to the limo and the driver is holding your door open for you, nodding as you place your hand on the top of the car, preparing to get in. One more thought occurs to you and you say it spitefully, because you want it to hurt. You want him to hurt like you hurt.

"Actually, next time you get a case, don't even bother coming to me. Go straight to your girlfriend. You work _great_ together."

With that, you climb in and the driver shuts the door. You can't help but cast a glance backwards and are surprised to see a blank look on his face, as though your words hadn't even fazed him. No worry. If he doesn't care, then neither will you.

You don't see that as your limo pulls away, he punches a nearby trashcan so hard that he dents the surface, splitting the skin across his knuckles. You don't see him sprint to his car and speed towards your apartment, only to find that you either won't answer or aren't there. You don't hear him as he sits alone in his car with unshed tears in his eyes, praying to his God for you to trust him enough to tell him what happened, and that if you let him, he'll love you until his dying breath.

-+-+-+-+-+

A/N: Don't despair. It gets better. Also, I don't remember if Russ and Amy are married so I pretended. The French is rusty, so please forgive.

I've been asked to translate the french: Bren: Thank you, sir. Are you having a good time this evening? French Ambassador: Yes, yes. There is an excellent selection of wine tonight. It is the only reason I am still here.


	6. Smart People

Title: Pulse Point

Pairing: B/B

Rating: K+

Spoilers: Up to PPinthePP (heh heh)

Disclaimer: not mine

Summary: "You're a little too smart for your own good."

A/N: I'm getting this out now, because I have loads of work to do and I can't focus. WARNING: be prepared, this chap is a little beacon of hope among this sea of angst. Keep in mind the POV here, so if it's a little slack on description, you'll get why. Also, this chapter is not meant to be too contrived. I tried to make it as realistic as possible. If you don't think so, I'm up for pointers.

Thanks for the reviews, and please enjoy.

-+-+-+-+-+

Smart People

-+-+-+-+-+

Your tummy hurts. A lot. Normally, when this happens, mom lets you lie with your head in her lap and she gives you a lot of those kisses on your neck that tickle. But mom isn't here right now. Dad is, but he's talking on his cell phone and getting your lunch ready.

"Parker, you almost done? Go brush your teeth," dad's looking at you over his shoulder as he puts your sandwich into a plastic bag.

"Dad, I don't feel so good," you say as your bury your head into your arms.

"What's wrong? Your head hurt?"

"No, my stomach hurts. A lot."

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up?"

"I dunno," your voice sounds really whiny, but you don't care.

"Do you need to go number two?"

You shake your head. You don't want to move. Dad puts his hand on your forehead and frowns.

"You don't feel like you have a fever. Are you sure you don't feel good, buddy?"

"Yeah."

"This isn't about that girl again, is it?"

"No!" She found another boy to carry around. You grew an inch, so that may have helped.

"Okay, okay," he's rubbing the back of your head and it feels good.

"Can I go back to bed?"

"Parker, you've got to go to school. I can't keep you if you don't have a fever," your frown makes him kneel in front of you. "How 'bout this: if you start to feel really, really bad, then tell your teacher that you're going to be sick, and she'll let you go to the nurse and she'll call me, okay?"

"Okay," you don't want to cry, you really don't. You're a big boy now. But you really don't feel well.

"Good. Now go brush your teeth. We've got five minutes."

-+-+-+-+-+

You're sitting in the nurse's office. You missed snack time. That's the best part of the day because you get to eat your banana and drink chocolate milk.

You're still here because you threw up. You told Mrs. O'Reilly that you didn't feel good, but she told you to sit down. But on your way back, it felt like something was climbing out of your throat. Before you knew it, Marisol's entire backpack was filled with puke. It was gross. And everyone kept making these faces at you, and holding their nose. You feel really, really bad now. Your stomach doesn't hurt as much, but Marisol is really nice and now she's not going to be your friend.

The nurse keeps calling all these people. For some reason, dad isn't answering his phone. He always says he's doing "important big people things" when he can't answer his phone. She's hanging up now. She doesn't look very old. Is she really a nurse?

"Where's my dad?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but your dad is unavailable right now. Someone else is coming to get you."

"Who? My mom's out of town."

"Dr. Brennan."

Who's that? You don't need a doctor. You need your mommy. You want your mommy. You don't want to be here anymore. Maybe your stomach _doesn't_ feel better.

A cool hand is on your forehead, and you wake up slowly. You must have dozed off. Opening your eyes, you see Dr. Bones sitting next to you. She looks really worried.

"Dr. Bones! What are you doing here?"

"I came to pick you up. Your dad listed me as his emergency contact."

"Where's my dad?"

She frowns for a second and looks at the nurse.

"Is he okay?"

"Yes. He's okay. It's just that he was in court, and then he got called away."

"To do what?"

"I'm not quite certain. Your dad does a lot of things that I don't know about. But it must have been very important for me to come instead of him. He would want to spend as much time with you as possible."

She's helping you up and you still feel a little funny. She grabs your backpack and starts signing some release forms for the nurse.

"Are you old enough to be a nurse?" Dr. Bones is looking at the nurse like your teacher looks at you sometimes when you answer in class.

"I'm 29," she tells her. The nurse isn't smiling.

"Oh. I used to have that problem too. A haircut might help. Thank you for taking care of Parker."

"Uh, right. No problem. He should be fine, but we generally send kids home if they've gotten sick at school as a precaution."

"I understand. Are you ready Parker?"

"Yeah." You don't know what to do. You just want to lie back down.

By the time you get to her apartment, you don't feel so good again. Hopefully she'll let you lie down. She opens the door and you walk in. It looks like a museum in here. Very big, with all sorts of breakable things. Mom would definitely not let you play here.

"Angela said that you would probably want to go back to sleep."

"Yeah."

"Okay, do you want to sleep on the couch or on a bed?"

"It's really bright in here."

"You're right. Come back this way. You can sleep in my bed. I don't have sheets on the other one and you look pretty tired."

You follow her back and look at all the pictures of different places on the walls. It looks like she's been everywhere. Her room is bigger than dad's room. She's walking over to the window to close the blinds and gets nice and dark. Yeah, you could definitely go back to sleep. You pull your shoes off and she pulls back the covers for you and you climb in. She disappears for a second in another room and brings out a trash can.

"The bathroom is right there, okay? If you feel like you need to vomit again, try to get it in here. If you don't, it's not a big deal. I'm supposed to get you some water too, so I'll be right back."

She leaves you and you move around a bit and your eyes are really heavy again. Her bed smells good. It smells like night time. Is there a smell for night time? Maybe this is it. You hear her put the glass on her night stand and she sort of stands there for a minute, looking confused.

"Bones, what are you doing?" your voice sounds scratchy. At least your stomach doesn't hurt as bad.

"I'm not quite sure what to do. What does your mom do when you feel sick?"

"She hugs me and gives me kisses. Sometimes she rubs my back until I go to sleep."

"Do you want me to rub your back?" You nod and she smiles, she seems like she wants something to do. She walks over to the other side of the bed and sits down on top of the covers and starts rubbing your back. She doesn't have nails like mom does, but tt feels very nice. Before you know it, you're asleep.

-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Bones?" you wake up and stretch. She's sitting in the corner in this big chair with her laptop and a big pile of paper. She has one of those funny looking lights on behind her too. The first thing you notice is a weird pang in your stomach, and it's not pain. It's how you feel when you spend too much time playing outside with Blake and Bobby, your next door neighbors.

"Yes? Are you okay? You slept for nearly four hours."

" Yeah, I'm hungry." She's looking at you like you sprouted another head. She eats, doesn't she?

"What do you like to eat?"

"Pudding. Not butterscotch though. Ice cream, apples, pizza, Doritos, vanilla wafers."

She looks like she's thinking again. She thinks a lot.

"Have you ever made a pizza before?"

"No."

"Would you like to try that?"

"Yeah! Can I choose whatever I want to put on it, like a chef?"

"As long as it's not marshmallows. Those do not go well with tomatoes. Trust me. I tried it the other day."

They proceed to pull various ingredients out of the refridgerator, finally settling on making taco pizza. You're not sure how well it's going to turn out, but it's worth a shot.

After the pizza is placed in the oven to bake, you look up to bones and remember you have homework.

"Bones do you want to check my homework? My mom normally does before I can put it away."

"Sure," she follows you to the table and you show her your spelling book. You did your spelling when you were in the nurse's office. This week you have fifteen words to learn instead of ten. "Mrs. O'Reilly made us learn five more words this week. I think she's trying to kill us."

"Oh no. It would be impossible to kill someone by just learning information." Your eyebrows scrunch together. Bones is so weird. She points at number seven. "What is this word?"

"Does."

"I think you have the 'e' and the 's' mixed up. Try spelling that one again." She watches as you carefully write the letters. You want her to think you're smart. Maybe someday you can be as smart as her.

"What do you think?"

"That looks great. The rest of these look really good, Parker. I'm very impressed." A large smile takes over your face. Bones thinks you're smart. "Do you have any other work to do?"

"Yeah, I have math. Don't tell dad, but I really like it. My teacher says I'm one of the best in our class."

"Why don't you want your dad to know?"

"He hates math. But he always helps me with it in the mornings. He didn't do it today though. He wasn't in a very good mood."

"Oh." Bones frowns at this as she looks at your math homework. You're going to start subtracting with two numbers next week like the second graders. Maybe Bones knows how to do that too.

She gives you a big grin when you ask and she shows you exactly how it's done. It's wonderful. Numbers are great. Quickly though, another presence begins to make itself known by grumbling loudly.

"I think your stomach is saying that we should work on math later." You put your books away and she grabs your pizzas and brings them over. They smell so good. She rolls the pizza cutter through them and puts a piece on your plate and does the same for her. She picks hers up to take a bite, but you stop her.

"Bones! You have to say grace first."

"What?"

"You have to thank God for giving you food." She looks like she wants to say something to you, but you start saying grace. "Bless us, Oh Lord, for these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

You take a giant bite out of your pizza and Bones does too. It's really good. You think you can eat all of yours. You could probably eat hers too. There's a knock on the door.

"Daddy!"

"Hold on, Parker. Let me go check," Bones puts her piece down and goes towards her door. She has a lot of locks on her door. She should move close to dad's house. It's pretty safe there.

"Hey, Booth," she lets in your dad and looks really tired. He already took off his coat. You get out of your chair and run over two him, and he wraps you up in a very tight hug.

"Daaaaad! I can't breathe!"

"Sorry, bub. How ya doin? Bones didn't forget to feed you did she?"

"No, we made pizza." He gives Bones a funny look while you grab his hand and bring him to the table.

"Wow. You weren't kidding. That's homemade pizza," he turns to look back at Bones. "You made pizza with my kid?"

"I made some last weekend when Russ was here with the girls. They had fun. I figured Parker would like it too."

He looks at her funny and takes a seat next to you. "This looks like… this looks like a taco fell onto your pizza. Did you get a little confused?"

"I came up with it! It's really good. Try some," you hold a piece out to your dad and he takes a bite and chews it a bit and kind of nods his head back and forth. "Yeah, this is pretty good. I'm impressed," he smiles at you and rubs your head.

"You can have some of mine Booth, I'm going to eat a salad. Let me get you a plate first," Bones says as she walks back towards the kitchen. Dad looks at you really quick and bends over.

"Hey, I'm going to talk to Bones real quick. Stay put, all right?"

"Okay," you watch as he walks up behind Bones and starts talking to her as she hands him a plate. He puts it on the counter and watches as she cuts up some carrots for her salad. Dad is frowning and Bones isn't talking much. Did you do something? You didn't mean to get sick. It just happened. Bones turns back to dad as she grabs some weird looking sprout things from the fridge. You can hear bits and pieces of what they're saying: "Cullen said that I should know by tomorrow whether or not I'm clear."

"What does that mean?"

"They've managed to do everything under covers so I shouldn't be implicated in anything."

"Under raps, Bones. And implicated in what?"

"Booth." She says his name like mom says yours when you've gotten in trouble. Dad looks like he's in trouble too. They continue talking, but dad doesn't seem to be too happy. Neither does Bones. She was at least laughing when it was just you two. You hope they aren't mad at you.

They come back to the table and dad sits next to you while Bones sits at the head of the table. They aren't saying much, but dad keeps eating the pizza, so at least the food isn't bad. You don't want to eat anymore. Not if they're mad at you.

"Are you mad at me, dad?"

"What?" Dad looks surprised. What are you supposed to think? "Of course not, Park. I had a really tough day at work. A little boy got hurt real bad and I had to go find out who did it to him. One of the guys I work with was with me, and he got hurt too."

"Is he okay?"

Dad is looking at Bones as he says this: "With a little help from his friends, he will be."

"So you aren't mad at me?"

"No."

"Are you mad at Bones?" Dad sort of chokes on his pizza after you ask your question. Maybe he wouldn't choke if he'd stop to breathe. He eats really fast.

"Your dad and I aren't mad at each other, Parker. Your dad just wants to know that you're okay and I want to make sure that you stay that way."

She rubs your arm as she says this and pushes away the rest of her salad, looking at the completely empty stone thing. Dad's still really quiet. He's normally goofy. Remembering a promise Bones made to you when you were doing homework, you tug your dad's arm to get his attention.

"Bones said we could go get sundaes after we finished eating. You ready?"

"Parker, I doubt Bones wants to put up with us anymore than she has to. Let's get you home."

"Aw dad," you frown at him and give him puppy dog eyes. Bones frowns at dad too. She's totally on your side.

"He is right, Booth. I did promise him. He was even nice enough let me help him make dinner."

"Yeah, she was my assistant. We got to wear aprons and throw the dough in the air and everything!" Dad's starting to smile now. Maybe you _will_ get to eat ice cream.

"You did? You're going to have to show me sometime." Dad looks at Bones for a second and he smiles at her again. "Okay. We can get ice cream, but only if you've finished your homework and help us clean up this mess."

"Bones already checked my homework. She was very impressed," you say happily. Bones is smiling at you as she grabs your plates. She does this weird thing with her eyes when dad looks at her.

"He's right. We already went over his homework. We even learned how to do a couple other things too."

"This is, wow. I'm beyond amazed. Who knew you could be so domestic?" When dad says this he stops really quick. I almost run into him with our glasses. But Bones doesn't stop at all, she keeps walking into the kitchen.

"I am capable of normal human function, Booth. Don't act so surprised all the time."

"Sorry. I just wasn't expecting all this. Especially when you left a message saying my son looked slightly green."

"I wasn't green! If I were green I would be like the hulk."

"Yeah and you'd be super strong, right?" You and dad are wiping down the table and Bones is putting the rest of the dishes into the dishwasher. Bones taps the top of your head with a dishtowel as you get closer. At least she is acting goofy. But dad is getting better.

"C'mon guys! Let's go," you start tugging on your dad's hand, but he's still looking at Bones. He sure does look at her a lot.

"Are you sure you're up for this? I mean, you were pretty much babysitting all day. It's okay if you want us to leave."

"Not really, he slept most of the day," says Bones, and you smile. "I want to go. I want to see if I can recreate the sundae Emma had on Saturday. It was quite delicious."

"Who's Emma?"

"She's one of Bones' nieces. She has another one named Hayley."

"Oh." You didn't know Bones had nieces. "How old are they?"

"About your age, " says dad. "Right Bones?" He watches as Bones locks the door and then you lead the way to the elevator.

"I think so. They were the ones who wanted to get sundaes the other day. Hayley actually ate all of hers, it was surprising."

"Dad can eat a lot of ice cream. Once, we raced to see who could eat it the fastest, but we had to stop because we both got brain freeze."

"Actually, brain freeze doesn't really - " Dad holds up his hand to Bones and she stops talking. She frowns at him and crosses her arms. "You're no fun," she says and you laugh. Bones is so silly. It's pretty cold outside and you grab your dad's hand because they're always really warm.

"How much further is it?"

"Just across the street, Parker." You get to the stop light and reach up to grab Bones' hand. She looks surprised.

"Mom always makes me hold her hand when we cross the street. She always says I have to be extra careful when I come to a stop light because there's more traffic." Bones nods at you as the three of you cross the street. You keep holding Bones' hand when you get to the other side. Her hand is warmer than dad's. She doesn't seem to mind. Dad holds open the door and Bones follows you in, placing her hands on your shoulders as you get in line.

Dad is standing behind her and he's whispering something in her ear, but you have no idea what he says. Bones just moves her head away like it tickles and gives him a funny grin. Whispers tickle your neck too.

"It's impolite to whisper, dad," you say as the man behind the counter looks at you. Dad makes a face and walks up closer to the counter, looking at all the flavors.

"He just wants a small cup of, moose tracks, right Parker?"

"Yeah, but I want a sundae," you aren't very happy with this decision.

"Parker, it's a weeknight. On Saturday, we'll come back and get a real sundae. Or maybe we'll come on Sunday for sundaes," dad starts chuckling to himself. You and Bones just roll your eyes. Dad is not funny.

"I'm still getting a sundae," says Bones and you frown. That's not fair. Dad doesn't get a sundae so you feel a little bit better. Maybe Bones will let you have some of hers.

As you all sit down in a booth, Dad and Bones keep teasing each other about the size of their ice cream. You don't really get it, but it makes you laugh anyway. Dad asks what else you did today and you tell him you slept mainly.

"You let him sleep in your bed?"

"He didn't want to sleep on the couch, Booth."

"Yeah, but don't you have a guest room?"

"My bed is much closer to my bathroom. If he got sick again he wouldn't have been too far."

"What'd you do then?"

"I was working on my book."

"I thought that was due Monday at Midnight."

Bones doesn't answer. She seems to be trying to stab her ice cream. It didn't do anything to her. Maybe you should take her spoon away before she hurts someone with it.

"I went back to work Monday night after… after the gala and tried to finish, but that didn't happen, so I asked my editor if I could extend the deadline 48 hours. Jennifer and I were really busy yesterday, but we stayed late and got most of our work done. Cam agreed to give me the day off after I told her about Parker, so I still had a chance to finish."

"Wait. It's due tonight? But you're out, eating ice cream," dad crumples his napkin and looks at her like she's crazy.

"I'd be out here with you regardless. Needless to say, I submitted my copy before Parker woke up, so it's no big deal."

"Well thank you," dad says as he steals a bite of her sundae.

"Hey, get your own!" she says, but you reach over and take a bite as well. It is good. You think she definitely wins at the good ice cream game.

"What about him?"

"He's actually nice to me and he had a rough day," says Bones as she gives your dad a funny face. Then she looks at you and smiles. You start laughing. They're both crazy.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just the gun and a shoulder to lean on. No big deal." Bones gives dad a sad look and shakes her head at him. You and Bones finish the sundae as dad leans back and watches you both. He's smiling at you and you think he must be getting sleepy.

"Dad? You look tired. We should get home so I can tuck you in," you say with a goofy grin.

"Ha," dad stands and takes your cups as you and Bones slide out of the booth and follow him. "Nice try, mister 'I don't feel good.' You have to clean out that hamster cage when we get back."

You frown. You don't even want that dumb hamster. Captain Fantastic bought it for you. He named it fluffy. It would be much better if it's name were Supertron or something. You grab their hands again as you three walk back and swing them back and forth. Bones keeps laughing and you laugh too. She has a nice laugh. Dad keeps smiling at her.

When you get back you go get all your things and feel kind of sad. You don't really want to leave. Bones is a lot of fun. And she knows a lot. Dad always says she's the smartest person you'll ever meet. You want to think up a list of things no one could ever know and see if you can stump her.

You go to the bathroom real quick and when you come out, you see dad spinning Bones around. Is he dancing with her? What's going on? You're gone five minutes and he starts putting the moves on your girl. Not cool. But then you watch as she laughs at him and dad keeps smiling and you think they both look really happy. Mom thinks dad has a crush on Bones. You're starting to think she's right.

"What are you guys doing? There's not even any music!" Adults are so weird.

"Bones owed me a dance so I made her pay up," Dad says as lets go of her hands and bends down and grabs your backpack. When he stands back up he winks at Bones, and she just shakes her head at him.

"Do you owe me a dance too Bones?"

"Maybe in a few years, Parker," she smiles at you and runs her fingers through your hair. You think she likes your hair. Mom likes to do that too. She says it's really soft.

As Bones opens the door you hear your dad talking under his breath, "can't believe my kid is moving in on my partner. Before you know it, my whole family is going to leave me for you."

He smiles at her as he walks through the door and then you wave good bye.

"Good night, Parker. Have a good week with your dad."

"Okay. Thanks a lot Bones." You're still kind of sad, but you don't want to show it. You want to be strong like dad is.

Bones looks up at dad as he turns around to say good-bye. "He really is very intelligent Booth. You should be very proud."

Dad just smiles at her and his cheeks sort of get red. "Give me a call and let me know what happens tomorrow," he tells her as you grab dad's hand and start walking to the elevator. As you push the button, you decide you want to do one thing before you go.

Running back to the door, you see that Bones is still waiting. You hold up your arms and she kneels down and gives you a hug. She smells like chocolate ice cream and is very warm.

"I'm glad you feel better Parker. Thanks for spending time with me," she says in your ear. "Be good for your dad this week. I haven't been very nice to him lately."

"Okay. Thank you for teaching me subtraction," you whisper and let go. She smiles at you and you run after your dad, who's watching both of you from the elevator.

"Night, Bones!" you both call out and she waves as the door closes.

While you walk out to your dad's car with your hand in his, you look up at him and he still has a goofy grin on his face. You're still thinking about those sundaes.

"Dad, were you serious about the sundaes?"

"You bet, buddy."

"Can Bones come?"

"Why? You got a crush on her?" He smiles at you as he buckles you in and kisses your forehead.

"NO!" you yell, but your cheeks get really hot. You don't like girls. Only the nice ones. You guess you like Bones. Dad climbs into the driver's seat and is still grinning at you.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I think Bones has a crush on you."

Dad stops smiling and looks at you in the mirror.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. She gets that stupid smile on her face when she looks at you. Mom has it all the time when she's with Captain Fantastic. It makes me gag."

Dad stays quiet for a bit.

"Do you really think so?"

"Yup," you yawn loudly. You're getting very tired. Soon your eyes start to drift closed. The last thing you hear when you go to sleep is your dad whispering to himself: "You're a little too smart for your own good."

You smile and turn your head. Maybe you're as smart as Bones after all.


	7. Invisible Children

Story: Pulse Point

Rating: K+ ( don't even ask for smut, it won't happen)

Pairing: B/B

Disclaimer: Not mine

Spoilers: Up to 'The Crank in the Shaft"

Summary: It still feels like it's just the two of you circling each other, with everything and everyone else falling to the wayside.

A/N: Geez this chapter is long. I'm sorry guys, my attempts at being concise suck. Anyway, please oh please pay close attention this chapter. It's pretty much explaining a lot of things. Not everything, mind you. Also, keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and some details, though based on reality, have been altered. Last but not least, thank you all for the reviews and the patience. Enjoy.

-+-+-+-+-+

Invisible Children

-+-+-+-+-+

She didn't call. It's been a day and she never called. Didn't let you know what was going on – nothing. You know that you left things very unstable on Wednesday, but she looked you in the eyes and said she'd give you an update.

Yesterday was relentless; you had all sorts of paperwork to deal with after the shootout from Wednesday. Two agents were injured; one was a very good friend. Now he's laid up in the ICU at GW and you're left cleaning up the mess and watching how his family handles the whole ordeal.

It makes you not want to get attached to anyone. You think about Parker and what would happen to him if you were fatally wounded, growing up with someone else to call dad with you just a distant memory. You think about your brother, sitting by your bed, telling you stories as you lay unconscious, teetering on death. You think about Bones, but you know she'd be okay. She was fine the last time. After all, you're just her partner.

Now it's after lunch on Friday when you park your SUV and barrel into the building, ready for a throw down. Neither of you could really clear the air with Parker there, but a tentative cease-fire was instituted. Now, you're done playing nice. You have rights, and as her partner, you at least deserve something. You told Cullen as much this morning.

As soon as you walk into the Jeffersonian you make a beeline towards her office, only to run smack into Jen. She such an all-American looking woman, too bad she's from Canada. You give her a grin, hoping that she won't notice your obvious irritation.

"Hey!" she says warmly, giving you a beaming smile. "Coming to make sure we do actual work around here?" You have no choice but to follow her as she walks towards the platform. Angela and Hodgins are looking at a computer screen, bickering good-naturedly. They seem to be getting along much better these days.

"Yeah, something like that."

"How's Parker? Did you tell him about dinner tomorrow night?" You try not to frown, but she notices your hesitation. She is not like the other squints. She functions on a normal people level as far as human interaction goes which is somewhat of an anomaly around here.

"Not yet. He woke up late and it was a mad dash to get him to school this morning."

She nods her head as she peers down at the exam table in front of her. Her unruly, curly hair is tied back, yet one rebellious curl keeps escaping. You can tell she wants to say something, but for the sake of professionalism, is holding it back. She's very good at separating work from personal things.

"Hey, G-man, waiting to hear about the big news?" asks Hodgins as he walks up next to you, holding an open file full of gross looking pictures of fungi.

"What news?"

"Brennan's late," says Angela as joins with the slowly assembling team. "She said something about Uganda, and a magazine and Brian. I don't know - it was a big blur. She only had a few minutes before the plane boarded."

"Wait. What?"

Cam and Sweets appear as well. Does anyone work around here? Why is Sweets even at the Jeffersonian? Everyone is looking at you and you realize you seem a bit exasperated. Cam's raised eyebrows begin to reel you in. Deep breath.

"Dr. Brennan left Wednesday night for a meeting in New York," clarifies Cam. "No further details were given, just that she expected to return this afternoon."

"What about the magazine?"

"No idea. Bren and I have this old college friend whom she supposedly met up with on her trip. Maybe he did a spread on her or something in one of those hippie magazines he writes for."

In your credit, you take this all in stride, but you still don't know what to think. You then recall that Cullen also mysteriously disappeared yesterday, but you were told it was for an exercise down at Quantico.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck start to stand up and you turn to look towards the entrance. She's walking towards the platform with a guy. In the manner so inherent to your psyche, you immediately size him up. He's six feet tall, 175-180 lbs, medium build, hazel eyes, dirty blond hair that could use a trim, and has a tattoo on his right wrist. You could definitely take him.

After critically eying up the guy, your eyes light on Bones and she looks… she looks like a burden has been lifted from her shoulders. She's smiling, her eyes are bright and hopeful looking, and she's in one piece. Which is key, because you are about to rip her apart.

"Bren! Wow, Brian. Look at you," Angela gushes as she runs to the pair who've now stepped on the platform. She gives Brian a great big hug and a kiss on the lips and then gives her friends her undivided attention. They walk over to the exam table where you, everyone, remains assembled.

"Brian Capolini, these are my co-workers, Hodgins, Cam, Dr. Sweets, Booth and Jennifer," Bones motions to each of you as Brian reaches out and shakes everyone's hand. You grip his hand strong, but not too strong. He gives you a funny look but reciprocates.

"So what happened?" Angela cuts straight to the chase.

"I had to fly to New York to sign some legal documents and Brian happened to be up there for - " Bones stops as she looks at him, she's not quite sure how to proceed. He steps in with a smile in her direction.

"Brennan and I were in Uganda together for about four weeks. I had to return the States and actually earn my living. "

"And what is it that you _do _exactly?" You try not to sound too interrogative, but Bones gives you an admonishing glance that screams, 'BACK OFF'.

Brian looks at you and responds, "I'm predominately a freelance journalist; though I just signed on to do a stint with CNN as a foreign correspondent."

"Oh, with those eyes, everyone will be glued to the screen," Angela smiles at him. You watch Bones roll her eyes and grin.

"Anyway," his face grows a little red. He seems to be genuinely modest and tries to move along. "I was up in New York and I heard through the grapevine that Brennan was in town. She owes me dinner and I'm pretty sure I owe you about five, Ange, so I guess I'll see if I can do a little give and take while I'm here."

"How long are you sticking around for, man? We've got plenty of places to go," asks Hodgins. You can't tell if he's jealous or genuinely curious. But if he's an ounce like you, he's flat-out jealous.

"Only a couple days. I ship out on Sunday. They want me to cover all the craziness that has been going on in Uganda after I left. What'd you do to them after I left, B? Dig up somebody's great uncle Mufasa?" he's joking and everyone laughs, but Bones looks a little more reserved now.

"You never said you were going back," she says only to him. You try to ignore the way she's talking to him; it's the way you talk to each other.

"How could I? We spent the whole trip down talking about the orphanage."

"What orphanage?" asks Cam, trying to do her best to follow the conversation as she meticulously makes tissue slides ready for the microscope.

"Yeah, so the big news," Brian is speaking very excitedly now. This had better be good; you have a squint to yell at. "When we were out there, Brennan and I were going to hike Mount Elgon, which borders Kenya. On our way out there, we came to a small refugee camp. Long story short, there was this giant group of kids without parents there and Brennan is financing the building of the orphanage. Best part is, when we got back to Kampala, she decided to take on an existing orphanage that also needs support."

"So you were in New York finalizing the orphanage plans?" asks Cam among the surprised responses. She's put down her slides and is focusing on the conversation.

"Yes, I had to meet with the Board of Directors of the organization that oversees the development and management of the orphanages. There were a lot of details to work out. Brian was the point of contact for a while," she says this nonchalantly, like everyone just takes over an orphanage everyday.

"That's it?" You blurt out. You want to know the meat of it. You feel like there's been a lot of secrecy for nothing and you feel like you went through a hell of a time for some charitable gesture. "There was no danger, no big situation that involved any crazy theatrics?"

Jen subtly grabs your forearm in an effort to calm you down. "I think what Seeley is trying to say is, 'Wow that's amazing and very considerate of you to put your wealth and knowledge to good use. Did anything else happen while you were away?"

Everyone gets very silent while Bones looks like she's trying to calculate the exact velocity a flying object would have to achieve in order to properly knock you out without anyone noticing.

"Sorry, Bones. That is really, great. You just left so unexpectedly." You know you should stop now, but you keep going. "But just to make sure, nothing happened, no other _news_ to share?"

She looks directly at you and suddenly you're back in that stairwell again and you can feel the sheer energy exchanged between you. The liquid desire burning under the skin, how with every breath you were filled with her scent and you wanted nothing more than to trail your fingers along the smooth skin of her spine and feel the roundness of her ass in your hands. A second longer and you'd have taken her then and there. You blink again and you're back on the platform, surrounded by several people, yet it still feels like it's just the two of you circling each other, with everything and everyone else falling to the wayside.

Shaking her head, she is perfectly unreadable and you are surprised at how well she shields herself from you, when you used to understand her so well.

"No, nothing else," she seals the deal. "A lot of my activities in my spare time in Uganda were spent coordinating and working with the American contact in Kampala. We had a lot of loose strings to resolve."

Everyone is looking between you like they're waiting for someone to shoot the first arrow.

"Right. Loose strings. Must have been really important, those loose strings, for you to neglect to _call_ me yesterday," you say this as other conversations pick up around you.

She's been rummaging through her bag as you actively provoke her while Brian is giving you this look like you're a class-A dick for acting this way. Suddenly she finds her blackberry and answers the phone. So much for the battle, you frown. She looks up at Brian and mouths an apology then steps away, walking to her office. Angela meanwhile takes his arm and cruises to a nearby desk where they start to chat as old friends are wont to do.

"What the hell was that all about?" asks Jen as Cam walks back to her microscope, slides in hand.

"What was what?"

"The interrogation? She just made this amazing philanthropic gesture and you give her the third degree about something completely unrelated?"

"That's not all that happened and you know it. Everyone here knows it," you raise your voice a little and the team looks at you and Jen quizzically.

"How do you know that? There are a lot of things that go on during international trips that you may not be aware of. Maybe something happened, but she certainly is not required to divulge that information to her co-workers. Regardless, you need to chill out. The only reason I came here was to work with that woman, my boss mind you, and you're treating her like a suspect!" Jen's cheeks are flushed and her curly hair seems to be even curlier.

It occurs to you at this exact moment that it's ironic the woman you're dating is defending the woman you love. If only she truly knew why you're so agitated. Before you can say anything in response, you hear Angela squeal as Brian pulls a magazine out of his bag, motioning for her to be quiet.

"Woah, is that Dr. Brennan?" asks Sweets as he looks over Angela's shoulder. "This is wicked awesome. I know someone on the cover of Time Magazine!"

Everyone collectively migrates towards Angela who has placed the magazine on an empty bench. On the cover is what appears to be a picture taken from a short distance. It's the middle of what appears to be a field with a large group of Ugandan children of varying ages on one side with a small group of young looking soldiers on the other. Standing toe-to-toe with one such soldier is Bones, clad in khakis and a dark tank top with her hair tied back; her stance is fearless and firm as she gestures towards some distance behind the soldiers as if saying 'leave now!' The soldier has his semi-automatic rifle pointed at her chest, the barrel of the gun possibly touching her skin. Flanking her are two kids: the younger one has her hand wrapped around Bones' leg, while Bones' hand rests on the older child's shoulder.

"Invisible Children: how world-renown forensic anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan is contributing to the solution," states Cam as she reads the headline for the cover story.

"Wait, is this the big news?" asks Angela as she places her hand on his forearm.

"It's my big news. B doesn't know yet. Actually she might kill me. But this story is what got me my job. They really liked what I wrote and the spin I took, so one of the editors rec'd me to one of his buddies with CNN."

"This cover photo has so much depth; you can actually feel the tension just by looking at it," says Jen as her fingers tug at the corner. Your eyes are glued to Bones as she walks back and forth in her office. She normally paces when there's something unnerving that she has to talk about. You could care less about the stupid magazine. It's just another testament to how different she is from you.

Sweets is asking you a question, but you can't understand a word he's saying. Everyone is looking up, waiting for you to respond, but all you want to do is march into her office and yell at her. Your anger is so unbelievably unfounded that you aren't quite sure where it's coming from. It's almost as if a switch has been activated and you can only process the need to know what happened.

Without even bothering with the pretense of trying to respond, you walk away from them, knowing that their gazes are trained on you as you step off the platform and into her office. Shutting the door, you at least have the decency to try to make the conversation semi-private.

Bones doesn't seem to pick up on your frustration as she turns to see who's intruded upon her conversation. She gives you a WTF? look and motions for you to wait outside. You cross your arms and stand firm like a stubborn child, refusing to leave.

"Yes sir, I understand. No, I wasn't aware. It went to press on Monday, hits the stands at midnight tonight. I don't think it can be linked. No. Actually, yes. Booth is right here. Okay," she hands you the phone and you look at her curiously. "It's Cullen. He has some words for you."

She's watching you as you speak with him and you can tell that her burden has returned somewhat.

"Booth, I want a meeting with you in thirty minutes."

"Yes sir. Your office?"

"No. Meet at the Tidal Basin. Bring your squint. I want to get this over with so you'll stop driving us both crazy."

"Yes sir. We'll be there."

You hang up the phone and look at her, confused and curious. Your frustration has subsided mildly.

"You're on the cover of Time Magazine."

"I know. I found out after you and Parker left Wednesday night. We tried to get it pulled, but it's hitting the stands at midnight."

"Why do you want it pulled?"

She gives you a long-suffering look and grabs her bag, swinging it over her shoulder.

"You'll find out when we meet Cullen. That is what he wanted right? I think today should be the Tidal Basin."

"How'd you know?"

"He likes to think he isn't a creature of habit, but he always likes going there at the end of the week. He also reads every word inscribed in the Jefferson Memorial. He seems to have great admiration for Thomas Jefferson."

You don't even bother wondering how she knows this. She opens the door and walks to the platform again, trying to get Angela and Brian's attention. All she gets are congratulations and praises from her co-workers. Everyone wants to go out for a celebratory dinner. She smiles and thanks them, but continues with her initial goal of informing them of her departure.

"Booth and I have to go to a meeting, we'll be back in a little bit," she says as you stand with your hand on the rail of the platform. You don't bother coming up. You're too confused to function right now.

Bones seems to pick up on this as she walks past you, yet keeps moving towards the exit. You follow quickly and catch up to her, trying to forget that your kid was holding both your hands last time you were with her. The sheer domesticity of the evening surprised you, in a good way. You'd expected to arrive finding Parker bored to tears on the couch or vomiting profusely. Instead you walked in on your dream night, bitterly reflecting that her preferences and your feelings of inadequacy are separating you from making that a reality.

The ride over is quiet. You're still tense and she seems preoccupied, her long fingers bound tightly in a fist and the side of her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. All your previous irritation and frustration have formed into this all too overwhelming sense of anxiousness.

After you park half a block away, you and Bones resume your quiet trek towards the Tidal Basin, watching the chilled tourists as they head to their busses. Before you get any closer, Bones steps in front of you, putting a hand on your chest to stop you.

"I need you to promise me that you won't feel guilty about this."

You cock your head to the side like she's crazy and pull her hand away. Physical contact is a more than you can handle right now.

"Why would I feel guilty?" You ask as your spite grows. "You're the one who left for 8 weeks to go on a humanitarian mission to Uganda, leaving me with a new person to work with. You're the one who came back and didn't bother to see what was going on in _my _life. I'm not the one who's keeping secrets for the past month, so I don't think I have a thing to feel guilty about."

You feel suddenly lighter. Those were things you've wanted to say for a while. You're tired of the looks she gives you; of the way she treats you. So what, you started dating Jen when she was gone. Were you really supposed to wait forever?

The stunned look on her face is quickly masked with a look of indifference. You know you went too far and your release is quickly replaced with worry. She steels her jaw and turns back around, walking away from you towards the memorial. As soon as you catch up with her, you see Cullen descending the steps. He must have been inside reading. Imagine that.

"Booth, Dr. Brennan," he nods as you three continue to walk closer to the basin, away from a newly arrived group of school children. It's breezy by the water and Bones' hair keeps blowing all around. You can't help but catch the intoxicating scent of her hair and are immediately swept back to the gala, when you stood on the terrace with her, the city lights dancing in her eyes and her flushed cheeks giving her an ethereal glow. As Cullen clears his throat, you're broken from your thoughts as you look at the two of them and can't help but notice how she's moved beside him, further from you.

"Alright Booth, I'm offering you information that has been downgraded in security level as of 9 this morning. This is all you're going to get for a few months, so take it or leave it."

"I'll take what I can get, sir."

"Tell me what you know about Uganda," he commands and you glance at Bones, who seems to be looking past you, at the memorial.

"Okay, in the beginning of the year, they had elections to replace Yoweri Museveni after he was assassinated by an unknown group. The elections were not observed as being official due to severe corruption and threats made against citizens by the two lead candidates. Dembe Buswala was the elected president until recently, when it was discovered that he had been directly siphoning funds to the Lord's Resistance Army. Since then, there has been a coup, and Buswala has disappeared. And… yeah, that's all I've got."

Cullen nods and looks at Bones, raising his eyebrows and smirking a little. He's not surprised you've done your homework. Bones remains completely blank, refusing to meet your eyes. She looks extremely uncomfortable right now.

"Dr. Brennan was invited to Uganda by her colleague, Dr. John Mayat. They were working to identify victims who have suffered under the conflict in northern Uganda, which mainly concerns the LRA. During the beginning of her trip, the US government asked her to identify some remains that they suspected to be American, which they were. In 2002, we sent in four operatives to infiltrate the LRA, two of the four were killed earlier this year. These were the bodies Dr. Brennan identified. The other two US operatives were MIA at the time. President Museveni was actually assassinated by one of the two men Dr. Brennan identified, as ordered to do so by the LRA. One of the LRA members, Buswala, who was taken as a child and raised in the regime, managed to gain access to a government position and became the Ugandan president earlier this year after the assassination. Unfortunately, Dr. Brennan and Dr. Mayat also identified Museveni's body during the beginning of the trip, like the third week?"

"Yes. It was day seventeen," she clarifies, her eyes glued to the ground as though reading the words Cullen is speaking.

"It was leaked that Museveni's body was found and rumors started to circulate that it had to do with the LRA. Because we did not want his assassination to get linked back to the US, his body was moved for safekeeping. Meanwhile, Dr. Brennan and Mayat managed to discover that Buswala was actually affiliated with the LRA, and had been reallocating funds to the LRA for the past 8 months. This also got leaked by one of Mayat's students, who was affiliated with the Ugandan Army. Somewhere in the middle of this you also managed to get mixed up in the Invisible Children business, correct?"

Bones looks up at him, realizing that she should actually respond. "Yes sir. Brian Capolini and I both started investing our time in the Internally Displaced Camps."

"Right, the IDP. We have to talk about that later; don't let me forget. Anyway, threats were made against Dr. Mayat at the Kampala International University, stating that Museveni's body needed to be destroyed. Not long before Dr. Brennan was scheduled to return, she was kidnapped by the LRA, most likely Joseph Kony as a result of these threats. She was held captive for 6 days and then escaped," he stops here and looks at her, which you are glad, because you feel as though the wind has been knocked out of you. "If Dr. Brennan wants to elaborate on that, she can do so on her own time. Clearly you survived, and made your way back to the US."

Cullen nudges Bones a bit and she smiles slightly. He seems to be nearing his off-the record account and looks at Bones for confirmation.

"You following me, Agent Booth?"

"Yes. Museveni was assassinated by American plants in the LRA, which was responsible for putting Buswala in power and kidnapping my partner."

"Did I leave anything out?" he asks.

"What happened after I was evacuated?" Bones' arms are crossed and she looks very small all of a sudden. Despite your earlier claims, your heart is already starting to feel heavy.

"Oh, yes. We sent in some agents to track down the two missing men and destroy all evidence of our having been involved. Buswala's disappearance has nothing to do with us, though it could possibly be linked."

Cullen seems to be finished and looks at you expectantly. You didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't this. Nothing like this. You don't look at Bones. You can't.

"Any questions Agent Booth? Have I settled your curiosity on the matter?" It's not really a question. You nod.

"Yes sir, thank you."

"Great. Dr. Brennan and I need to have a word, so you can head back to work, I'll drop her off at the Jeffersonian once we're finished here."

You want to refuse, you want to stay with Bones, but she doesn't seem to find it unusual that your boss wants to speak with her. Suddenly you realize that what he said last week about her being in good hands, he was referring to his own. Begrudgingly you acquiesce and manage to catch Bones' blank gaze before she turns to walk with Cullen along the edge of the basin.

The drive back to work is torturous. You're still digesting information. She essentially was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And she managed to create more problems by getting involved with her other humanitarian efforts. You are purposefully avoiding any thought regarding her kidnapping. It will be your undoing if you let it.

Once you get back to work you get a call from Jen saying that they're all going out for dinner and that you're invited, as long as you're in a better mood. She mentions something about possibly 'rocking some dirty girl lingerie' should you decide to come and want a reward. You smile at the thought. The closest thing she has to lingerie is a torn up pair of basketball shorts she still has from college.

You instantly feel guilty. All of which is starting to mount on you in leaps and bounds, but is halted by the resounding knock of Lance Sweets at your door.

"Agent Booth, may I have a word?"

"I really want to say no, but I imagine you'll wait outside my door until I say yes."

"Most likely."

"Take a seat. Make it snappy. I've got… things to do."

"Okay then. I'll cut to the chase. Aside from your relationship with Dr. Tate, have you told Dr. Brennan how you feel about her?"

You frown immediately. Before Bones left, you had finally admitted to Sweets what he already knew. You both had discussed it at great length, but since you started dating Jen, it sort of went to the back burner. The truth is all you can offer him at this point, and you're pretty sure neither one of you is going to like it. Taking a deep breath, you lean back in your chair and begin.

"I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and I'm starting to come to the conclusion that she and I wouldn't work out. See, I'm just an ordinary guy, I don't do anything remarkable, and even if I tried, few people would notice. Bones, she's not like the rest of us. She can walk into 5-star restaurant without reservations and get a table, she uses her wealth to build bridges in rural communities or organize orphanages in war-torn Uganda. She turns down perfectly good invitations to quit this world and sail into the sunset. She doesn't believe in marriage; children frighten her even though she is amazing with my son; and she believes that love is just a chemical reaction."

You pause for a second and consider your words. "So when you ask me if I've told her how I feel, the answer is a loud and clear 'no'. I'm not the guy for her. I'm too aggressive, too protective. I love kids and believe in God and white picket fences. And even though you don't want me to include her, Jen is perfect for me. She was already going to my church before I met her, she understands pop culture, she wants kids and isn't afraid of love or marriage. There comes a time when I've got to take a step back and face the reality of the situation. And that's it."

"But do you love her?"

"Who?"

"Dr. Brennan. Do _you_ love _her_?" his questions are more direct and confident than when you first met.

"It's not that easy Sweets."

"Actually, it is. Love does not solve all problems; only fools have ever claimed that. But you are discounting the sincere and very deep emotional connection between you both; one that is founded on respect and trust. When you say Dr. Tate is perfect for you, I can see how that might seem to be true, but you're settling for a lesser relationship because you undervalue your own worth. Why would someone as remarkable as Dr. Brennan continue working with you for such a long period of time if she did not recognize something in you that was equally remarkable? You aren't a nobody, you never have been."

He stops and stands, seemingly losing his nerve. Even though he's just a kid, he's damn smart. His words are beginning to sink in and you try to absorb them for every penny they're worth.

"Here's the deal. We're all going out tonight, that's right, even me. You need to examine how you feel about those two women tonight and decide. Because the further involved you get with Dr. Tate, the more distance you're creating between you and Dr. Brennan. If you just want friendship forever and always, you need to make that very clear, because I've watched this whole situation for the past month and it's driving me insane."

He leaves you to your thoughts and you take a look at the files on your desk and brush them aside, twisting in your chair to stare out the window. It's almost four. You need to visit your buddy at the hospital soon. Face a little bit of that mortality that you've been evading for so long.

-+-+-+-+-+-+

Angela picked a great spot. You're all seated at a high round table everyone looks hot. You're sitting next to Hodgins and keep muttering back and forth that the beer isn't strong enough. Next to him is Angela, while Brian is sandwiched between her and Bones, who is talking to Sweets quietly. Jen is on your right, asking Cam where she got her cashmere sweater.

You've spent most of the time avoiding looking at Bones and Sweets. Which has been hard to do, simply because Bones and Angela have killed a bottle of wine between the two of them and have begun telling college stories with Brian. They've been entertaining at best, but you can't help but notice the way Brian looks at Bones, like he's trying to memorize every feature before he goes back into the heart of darkness.

Laughter breaks your musings and you feel Jen's hand on your thigh. It's casual, not possessive, and she leans over to whisper into your ear, tickling your neck. God she smells good, what, did she bathe in liquid sex before you picked her up? She tells you to stop brooding and have a good time.

"Sorry Jen," you say as you kiss her temple briefly, "it's been a week for the record books. I'm going to grab another beer. Want a refill?"

"Sure, just a single this time."

"Hey, going up for seconds, anyone want another?"

"Oh, actually, I wanted to see what they've got in the cellar, I'll come with," says Angela as she slides off her stool and smiles brightly at Hodgins. You can feel his hopeful heart pitter-pattering from here.

"So what's going on Booth? You seem quiet tonight," asks Angela not more than ten feet from the table.

You shrug, not feeling like a heart-to-heart. "Nothing. It's just been a rough week."

"Right. Would it have something to do with you having ulterior motives when you went to that gala on Monday?"

Surprise crosses your features as you signal the bartender. How'd she know why you were there?

"Don't look so shocked. I work with really smart people. We _know_ things," she emphasizes as she points at you playfully. She's not tipsy yet, but she's getting there. She immediately becomes serious. "I know that Brennan got hurt when she was gone, I know that someone died and that she has problems sleeping at night. I know that she gets nauseas whenever she eats anything other than rice or oatmeal, and that she can't gain weight. I know she's afraid to talk to me because she thinks I won't be able to handle it. But she keeps forgetting that I've been her best friend for years, and I'm not going anywhere. I also know that you are running from the best thing you're ever going to have just for the sake of complacency."

Jaw agape and hand stuffed into your pockets, you struggle to consume Angela's heartfelt harangue. Everyone seems to be dispensing his or her wisdom at will tonight. For once, you'd like to say something without worrying about the consequences and have everyone listen.

"I've got to tell you one thing though. No matter how much you think you feel for Bren, that man over there has felt it longer. Brian has been in love with her since we were nineteen. So don't give me all that B.S. about waiting for her to come around. Maybe she already has, but you've been too distracted to realize what's right in front of you."

"You too? Did you and Sweets plan this?"

"No, but I'm beginning to think I could make a living doing his job."

You take a swig of your beer as the bar tender makes Jen's dirty martini. Glancing back at the table, you see Bones talking with Brian and Sweets, oblivious to Brian's arm draped on the stool behind her.

"Why hasn't he done anything about it?"

"Sorry?"

"If he's so in love with her, why hasn't he done anything about it?"

"Oh you're funny. It's the same reason why you haven't done anything. He's afraid of her saying no. He wants her in his life and knows that if he pushes too hard, she'll hit the ground running."

"Did uh, did anything happen between them while they were in Uganda?"

Angela looks from you to the pair behind you. The hesitation makes it clear that something may have happened, though she's become uncharacteristically silent on the matter. Offering you a grim smile, she shrugs and walks away with a 275 bottle of wine. You hope Hodgins is picking up the check.

As you both return, the conversation has somehow drifted to terrifying college moments and you can't help but laugh as Brian is recounting a sad tale of being sexiled for three weeks straight.

"I don't think I have ever been cleaner than those three weeks. All the showering you two made me do turned me into a new man," states Brian as he smiles at Bones and Angela.

"Ha, no it just turned you into someone we could tolerate being around," says Angela as she pours everyone some of the wine.

"Hey it wasn't that bad," he says looking between his two friends for confirmation.

"Don't look at me, I wasn't the one who had to sleep with you," says Bones as she smiles at him playfully. It's odd seeing her casual like this around so many people.

"The only reason I let him use my bed is because I was dating that drummer. Plus, he totally would have slept with you given the opportunity," Angela says with a mischievous grin.

"Not fair, Ange, I was a perfect gentleman."

"Sure you were. I heard about your adventures while you two were in Uganda. I like how you offered Brennan up as a sacrifice to that rural tribe. I can't believe they thought you were some sort of witch, Bren."

"I told you, it's because of my eyes. Everyone called me 'Pale Eyes' while I was there. And Brian didn't sacrifice me. He just tried to trade me."

"Also untrue. I was using you as a bargaining tool so we could borrow their donkey for two hours. Big difference."

The conversation veers off from there, but you find yourself lost among the chatter, laughing at clips and phrases, but your mind keeps drifting to the woman sitting across from you. There's a table candle close to her and it lights up her eyes as it flickers. Her skin has grown flushed with all the wine she's consumed and her smiles are more frequent. She and Hodgins are having an intense debate over some far off site for a dive trip that is tentatively being planned. You roll your eyes at them and can't help but chuckle. They're both adrenaline junkies.

Jen leans over and takes your attention for a few moments, asking about tomorrow. Knowing that you should let her meet your son, you tell her that you'll talk about it on the way home. Laughter erupts from the other side of the table again and your attention is drawn to Brian and Bones.

"Oh come on. I used to be so in love with you in college," he says as he takes a drink of liquid courage, avoiding eye contact like a pro. Bones is looking at him with a mildly surprised look on her face.

"I had no idea!" she frowns. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Many reasons, you were my best friend, you're intimidating, and most importantly I felt like you didn't reciprocate my feelings," he states plainly. You scream a resounding 'Amen' in your head.

"That's not fair. I can't know how I feel about something unless I've considered it, and I definitely was not socially mature enough to initiate anything. Why does everyone think I'm incapable of feeling any deep emotions?"

"Aw sweetie," says Angela as she reaches across to touch Bones' hand. "It's not that, it's just that you walk around saying feelings are products of chemical reactions and that they aren't real. Of course we've seen you capable of more, you just tend to hide it."

She remains silent and your heart lurches a bit. You recall that conversation that you both had in Sweets office months ago, where you said there was someone out there for her; she just needed to be ready for him. What if she is ready now and you're missing the boat?

The conversation starts to move again, but you remain focused on Bones. She's slipped into that contemplative mode she gets into when you've both had a challenging case. You catch her gaze and give her a goofy look, eliciting a smile. She looks like she's getting tired and you wonder if she got much sleep while she was away on her trip. Before your thoughts gather momentum, you watch as she leans forward to talk specifically to you.

"Where's Parker?"

"His best friend is having a birthday party at the ice skating rink and then they're heading to his house for pizza and a sleep over."

"He's getting his fair share of pizza this week."

"Hardly, that taco pizza deserves to have a day named after it," you say with a smile.

"What pizza?" asks Jen as she leans forward as well, joining the conversation.

"When Parker was sick on Wednesday we made taco pizza after he started to feel better," offers Bones.

"Right, I heard that there was a banana split involved?"

Bones looks at you and you can't tell if she's surprised that you shared information of that evening with Jen. She then nods at Jen and starts describing the necessary components to making an ideal sundae or banana split.

"That sounds delicious, B. Is that what we're having for dessert?" asks Brian as he leans over a bit. He looks so unassuming and chummy. She doesn't seem bothered by his proximity, something you wish you didn't notice.

"Sure. There's a place close to my apartment. We can go there later," she says offhandedly and you realize that she just means the two of them. It suddenly strikes you that everything is evolving into a situation where you can't show up with Thai food at midnight with your girlfriend in tow.

As the meal progresses, you notice how Sweets is watching you, cataloguing your actions compared to Bones'. You wonder what he's thinking, what the psychotherapist perceives of the mess you both have created. The scrutiny is almost unnerving. Suddenly, the perfect window is created as you watch Bones excuse herself for the restroom. You also state that your second pint has put you over the top and follow her.

"We need to talk," you say as you both climb the grand staircase that leads to the restrooms. She turns suddenly and you almost bump into her, and fall back a step. From her position, she's a bit taller than you, so you go back up one more step, bringing you considerably closer and nearer to her height. Much better.

"What about? You got what you wanted earlier, what more needs to be said?"

"Oh I dunno, something about you being kidnapped comes to mind."

"Look, Booth, what happened when I was in Uganda needs to be filled away and forgotten. I can't do that if you keep bringing it up."

"Then tell me what happened, and I'll leave you alone," you say as a couple women go past you on the stairs. From your position, you can easily be seen from the table. You should probably take a step back so the others don't start to stare. But you don't. You must remain firm.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you care so much?" she asks quietly, her eyes warm and intense. Her guard is down and you can't help but fumble for a response. If you leaned forward about three inches you could capture her lips with your own. But this is not the time nor the place.

"Bones," your voice cracks and she frowns, knowing your answer isn't what she wants to hear. She smiles feebly and turns again, completing her ascent as she heads towards the restroom. You stand there, staring after her, trying to figure out the right thing for all parties involved.

Later that night as you drive home, Jen brings up what she and almost everyone else witnessed on the staircase; noting how you and Bones seem to have your world and everyone else is invited to participate. The conversation is painful at best and you know that she's starting to figure it all out. An hour later, you both decide that in all fairness to you and to Jen, you should return to just being co-workers.

"Give me a call if she ever breaks your heart," she says with a sad smile. "It's a real shame too. I'm actually wearing lace underwear."

You swallow hard and sigh as she gets out of the car. Watching her walk to her door, you wonder if you're making the right decision. Sooner or later, you're going to find out.

After you get home, you pull off your sweater and peel off your jeans, pulling on a pair of navy sweat pants and t-shirt. Your mind is on fire as you try to digest the wealth of information offered to you today. Luckily Parker isn't at home, there is no way you could handle him on top of everything else. Hearing a knock at your door, you pull yourself up and walk over slowly, the days events and alcohol making you sluggish. As the door opens, you see a very young looking Bones standing on your front porch, clad in fleece pajama bottoms and a small Northwestern hoodie. Even now, she takes your breath away. You absently wonder if that feeling will ever fade.

Stepping aside, she walks in, but only so far. She turns quickly and her anxiety is evident in her features. Before you can say anything, she opens with this short, yet resounding statement.

"I shot and killed a child while I was in Uganda."

-+-+-+-+-+

A/N: That was mean right? Sorry. Let me know if you're confused by the Uganda business. President Museveni is real, though he is not dead. Joseph Kony is also a real leader in the LRA. Please, if you aren't familiar with Invisible Children, it's a very real and very serious problem. A breakdown can be found if you go to youtube and type in "Invisible Children" or wiki. Thanks!


	8. Ardent love and Broken Vases

Story: Pulse Point

Rating: K+

Pairing: B/B

Disclaimer: not mine

Summary: It's not everyday someone confesses their undying and ardent love for you.

A/N: Sooo. Plenty of you want this update, and I am here to serve. It may or may not be to your liking, but I wield the mighty pen, so just tell me what you think. An aside: the latter portion of this lil' ditty is inspired almost verbatim by something that happened earlier this week in RL. So, I'm not sure if it's cliché, but it definitely happens. Thanks for the reviews, please enjoy.

-+-+-+-+-+

Ardent Love and Broken Vases

-+-+-+-+-+

You hate going to Regan International Airport. The street signs are confusing at best and even if you could have taken the metro, you would have gotten increasingly frustrated with the whole mess. Besides, you like Dulles better. The security people are marginally nicer, and you know two of the women who work the desk at your preferred airline.

Still, you're here, waving goodbye to a dear friend. Though Brian was only here for a few days, you feel as though your life has changed in the duration. You watch as he is ushered through the endless security line and feel as though a little peace has come over you. It's not everyday someone confesses their undying and ardent love for you. Which, all things considered, is probably a good thing.

As you head back to the hourly parking, your phone starts to ring, the anxious trill breaking you from your thoughts. You find the noise box and see that it's Booth. Frowning, you drop it back into your bag. You can't handle him right now. One life-changing event at a time.

You hadn't intended to go his house Friday night. Brian was staying at Angela's apartment, she claimed that you'd had more time with him than her, so it was agreed that you'd all meet up for breakfast in the morning. You'd scrubbed your face and climbed into your most comfortable pair of pjs. Feeling nostalgic, you dug out your old Northwestern sweatshirt. Even though it was well after one a.m., you were unable to sleep.

Honey and chamomile tea did nothing to sooth your increasingly anxious nerves. There was no reason guessing as to why you were suddenly experiencing insomnia, and you were bitter. It was like he was willing you to his apartment with his incessant poking and prodding.

You weren't surprised that he was still awake, though once you arrived; you suddenly realized he might not be alone. Thankfully, he was without Jennifer, because that whole conversation could have gotten increasingly awkward with her present.

You remember his face after you confessed the act that had been weighing on you most heavily the past few weeks. His face was one of utter shock. He didn't respond, he just sort of stared at you for a moment, jaw hanging slightly. Despite your anxiousness, you could tell he was not expecting your admission, so you made to leave. His strong hand pushing the door shut stayed you, keeping you trapped between him and the door.

"Woah there, Bones," he said as you slowly turned around. "You don't just drop a bomb like that and jet, this ain't Hiroshima or anything."

Confusion crossed your face as you tried to put together all his references while he grabbed you by the shoulders, leading you to his couch. You sat in the far corner, removing your shoes so you could fold your legs up on the couch, unconsciously protecting yourself. He sat as well, close, but not touching you.

You started biting your lip, wondering if he'd ever think of you the same way after you finished telling him your story. You certainly didn't think too highly of yourself. Finally, he looked at you and took a deep breath. He smelled minty, like he'd just brushed his teeth. It calmed you a bit; so, mirroring his actions, you began.

"I was helping Sonja, who is Dr. Mayat's wife, buy some vegetables for dinner. They were having a farewell party for me because I was returning to Kampala the next day to continue negotiations for building the orphanage and school in the IDP camp."

You wanted to make this hard and clinical so the emotions wouldn't affect you, but the problem was that you still hadn't fully resolved the whole event. The emotion came at will, unbidden feelings seeping out with every word. You've accounted of the events for the sake of remaining official, but you knew those people didn't care about you, didn't wonder what it was like for you. But you knew Booth would care. He always did.

"Someone threw a burlap sack over my head and knocked me out. I woke up later and it was nearly dark. I was in this small metal cage, far too small for my proportions. I could not identify a single geographical landmark that would indicate where I was. Soon it was dark… there were no predators, but the insects where terrible. I felt really nauseas from my concussion and fell back asleep. The next morning I heard some men approaching and one of them spoke to me in English, asking if I was the one known as 'Pale Eyes'. They started asking me all these questions about the former president, where his body was located, how my friend and I got all of our information. I didn't answer, having entered into a confidentiality agreement with both our governments when they initiated the contract."

This part wasn't so bad for you, but the rest of the days were more difficult and you didn't want to go further. This wasn't like all the other times when you told him things, things about your past or your childhood or even your family. This was about something you did to another human being. It reflected who you are as a person.

"What else happened?" he was quiet and looking at you like you held the world's secrets in your pocket. "I mean, you don't have to tell me, if you'd rather not. Maybe just the basic outline, of the uh… whole thing."

Nodding, you thought that was probably best. "When I wouldn't answer, they grew angry with me and tried to coerce the truth out of me physically. For the most part, though, I was left alone. There were no trees at our location, so they would tie my arms at one end to the cage, which seemed to be secured to the ground, and then they would tie my feet and attach that end to one of their trucks. Slowly they would move forward until …" I didn't finish, just motioned with my arms, holding them out at length. He was looking at my wrists, usually covered by large bracelets, and could still see the faint ligature marks. "I would stay like that for hours. Sometimes they would throw rocks at me, others they would take a bucket of water and pour it over my mouth, so fast that I almost drowned. That was the only time I got water."

"Near the evenings, this boy, most likely fifteen, would appear and untie my bindings. He was careful and quiet, not once did he ever hit me or spit on me. I normally couldn't move afterward, my muscles were so fatigued, having gone through tonic-clonic spasms over the course of the day from being strung up."

You stop and take a breath. This is where it gets hard. You hate this part. "Then he would lead me back to that cage and I'd have to climb in while he lowered the top. The bars were barely wide enough for me to fit my arm through. The boy would bring me a handful of uncooked rice and stick it on this leaf, but he never put it close enough for me to reach. I would spend a good portion of my night trying to figure out how to get that damn leaf."

You chuckled mirthlessly to yourself, remembering how tears would drip down your dirt stained cheeks as you clawed at the ground, hoping just to get a spoonful of rice. Eventually you tore pieces of your pants off and managed to grasp the leaf with some maneuvering. You neglected to tell Booth of the beetles and other insects you ate. You captured those at the darkest times of night. Sometimes creeping along your feet and buttocks; other times you contemplated eating the dirt. That never happened though. You don't think.

"Anyway, at night, the men would leave and come back hours later. They were normally drunk and had this loud music going. Twice they came back with women and –" the sounds of those women screaming in the night, the sheer agony in their voices as they were penetrated time and time again still echoes in your dreamless nights, calling you to the surface. The worst though, was the resounding gunfire clung to the wind like smoke. "When the women tried to run away, the men would let them get so far, letting them think they'd escaped, and then they would shoot them in the back of the head and laugh about it."

You felt warmth around your ankle, and realized that Booth had placed his hand on the top of your foot, his fingers encircling the bones. He whispered, "I think I get the picture," and you nodded.

"That was most of what happened. There were other things, but they aren't noteworthy," you said, your fatigue was growing. There were other things they did to you, but he didn't need to know. Thankfully, none of it was sexual; you figured they thought you'd curse them because you developed a bit of legend status in the area because of the light blue/gray of your irises. You were afraid that he'd push you, but he sat with you in silence for a few minutes while you worked up the courage to divulge the last bit. It was hard though, because he'd started rubbing his thumb in a circle and you found it rather distracting.

"By the last day, I'd learned their cycle, how they worked things, and I knew that they would be going into town that night. Typically they only left two or three men behind, one to guard me, the other two would walk the perimeter to make sure it was clear. Those three were young, no more than fifteen or sixteen."

"When the boy came to untie me, he untied my legs first and then my hands. Normally I wouldn't have any feeling in my feet from being strung up for so long, but I'd kept them flexed that morning when they tied the bandages, giving me a little space. I ended up kicking him in the knee, then the groin, and disarmed him. I had his weapon, but there were no keys for the truck. I tried to connect the wiring to start up the vehicle, but the boy recovered and pulled out another gun. He punched me and pulled me out of the truck and was about to take my gun, but I clipped him in the jaw with the butt of the rifle. I started running after that, but I heard him yell and I turned to see him pointing the gun at me. He fired once and missed, which gave me time to fire at him. "

Your voice started to crack in the way voices are wont to do when they try to deny the impending tears. You closed your eyes, remembering how it was so hard to see except for his body - dropping to the ground and the sound he made as the blood and outside air started to fill his lungs. His breathing rapidly grew labored and reddish-pink foam collected on his lips.

"I shot him in the chest, but I missed his heart because it was so, so dark. And then he fell down and I couldn't move. I just stood there, watching him die. Then I ran over and tried to put pressure on the wound, but there was so much blood," your voice is coming out at a scratchy, painful squeak and you swallow hard.

You remembered feeling the same way you did when Booth got shot. The way you pressed so hard, but it still seeped through your fingers, soaking your clothes. An utter feeling of helplessness washed over you, engulfing you in its torrential waves. Your voice was now at a whisper, your pharynx had constricted and your voice grew hoarse.

"I never believed that you could see the life leave someone's eyes, but I remember how his glazed over and rolled backwards," you stopped again, merely to breathe. You needed to finish. You needed to get it out so you could go home and crawl under your covers and let the silence wash over you.

"The other two returned and started firing at me, but that time I aimed low. I hit one in the patella and the other in the thigh. And then I took off-" why was it so hard to breathe? Booth turned a bit and had grabbed your hands, you'd been fidgeting with your pant legs, and he squeezed them tightly. "I started running, but it was so dark and I had no shoes. And my abdomen was burning with this- I don't know, white -hot pain. It was getting harder to breathe and the pain kept getting worse. I knew I was getting close to the road because I occasionally heard cars pass during the daytime and had approximated the distance. "

You started speaking faster. The words were coming out rushed and you wanted nothing more than to be done.

"I must have jogged nearly a mile, but then I stepped into this hole and landed on the lateral side of my right foot. At that point, I realized that the pain in my side was from a gunshot wound and all that blood was coming from me. It wouldn't stop no matter how hard I pressed, and I was experiencing severe vertigo. After that, I don't really remember exactly what happened. I know I went a bit further and that a man stopped and pulled me into the back of his truck, but I became unconscious shortly after."

You didn't look at Booth. You didn't want to see the look in his eyes. All of a sudden, you felt completely trapped and you pushed him away, standing quickly. He looked surprised, but didn't say anything, only leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. You began pacing, and the last bit spilled out of your mouth like water from a fire hydrant.

"I was very sick," you don't tell him you almost died. That wouldn't rest to kindly on his conscience. Not that he has to feel bad about anything at all. But he would. It's his nature. "I was very sick for a few days. The next thing I coherently remembered was waking up in a hospital and I was in Landstuhl. I stayed there recovering for nearly a week, and then I returned to New York where I finished out my care."

Stopping your rapid movement, you stood in front of him, waiting to see what he'd say. His gaze was fixed on the far wall and you wondered if he was even listening. You wanted to leave. Badly.

"How uh," he didn't look at you as he asked, his head bent towards the ground. "How badly were you hurt?"

A frown and sigh answered him. It wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it was.

"My spleen was damaged by the gunshot wound. They removed it as well as the bullet fragments. I had a couple scalp lacerations, especially the one in the back of my head. Partially torn ligaments in my shoulder's, wrists and ankles. Abrasions all over my body and I had blisters along my arms, face, chest and legs from sun exposure. I was severely dehydrated and possibly infected with HIV, though that has since been ruled out… Oh, and, I had a grade 2 ankle sprain. They never tried… anything sexual, so I was okay there."

You listed your wounds as though they were on a grocery list and you can tell he's bothered by your behavior. You didn't come here to cry. You didn't come here to feel better. You came here to tell him what he wanted to know.

He stood up and started walking over to you, but you didn't want to be comforted. That was the last thing you wanted. You killed someone and now he felt sorry for you. Though, his eyes didn't hold pity or sorrow. They simply held pain and you didn't want that. You were tired of pain.

"Don't look at me like that, Booth," you croaked. Your voice was getting hoarse again.

"I can't help it."

"I should go," you knew that if he got any closer, you'd break down. That was not what you came here to do.

"You should stay."

"I can't." The words barely left your lips before his arms were wrapped around you, pulling you tightly into his chest. At first, all you did was take these deep breaths, trying to keep it all down. You really didn't want to breakdown in front of him again. It seemed like that was all you ever did.

You tried to push him away, tried to get some distance, but he held tightly to you, his hand moving up and down your back. It was too much. It was all too much.

Then you broke.

A deep shuddering breath led the way for a smattering of tears that quickly evolved into golf-ball sized pellets of agony. The pain you felt was for those kids, the hundreds of kids you saw day in and day out, smiles lighting their faces when you came to visit as they taught you their language. The tears you let fall were for John and his family, for their own lost child. The haggard breathing that escaped your lips was for those men who took you and for your own pain at the hands of another.

But most of all, you felt as though you'd evaluated your life, compared it to that young man and found that you deserved to live more. You'd valued your own life above that of another's, even when at heart you knew it was not true. He kept you alive, he had shown you mercy, and you took advantage of it and as a result, he died.

You're not sure how long you stood there, but his shirt was sufficiently soaked from your tears and you recalled more than one instance where you felt as though your knees would buckle. He held you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair. He offered the comfort only he could give.

It took you five minutes to convince him that you were okay to drive home. He'd repeatedly offered up his bed to you, he would take the couch. But you knew that if you ever stayed in the same place as him, the only way you would be satisfied was if he was sharing the same bed with you. Considering he had a girlfriend, that didn't seem likely anytime soon.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Stop, Booth. I've been okay so far, haven't I?" you give him a sad smile that he reciprocates. He pulls you in for another hug and your breath hitches as his right hand accidentally catches beneath your sweatshirt with his hand on your bare back. He doesn't move it though, simply hugs you tightly and whispers that all he's ever wanted was for you to be honest with him and that it wasn't your fault, any of it. You bite your tongue when you think of telling him the same thing.

"Tell Parker I'm sorry about the sundaes, it really would be fun," you say as you open the door to leave, trying to bring some semblance of normal to this somewhat cathartic visit.

"Eh, it's okay. We managed to over-pack Saturday with about twenty different things to do, so I think we're golden."

You nod at him as he crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. Just the way he's looking at you makes you feel warm inside, you wonder if he'll always make you feel that way.

"Thanks, Booth… for everything."

He smiles at you but doesn't reply and you quietly climb into your car, driving home without any music. You're not sure if you feel any better, but you definitely don't feel worse.

-+-+-+-+-+

The loud pulsating music is seeping through the cracks around her door. She must be painting. You begin to doubt if she heard your knock, but then the music is cut low and you hear her soft footsteps on the wooden floor. Opening the door, your assumptions are proven correct as you note her attire: a multitude of pain freckled across the legs of her jeans, two hand prints smeared on her butt. She's got a tank top on and from what you can tell, she's still going through her 'angry red phase'. Today it's a more somber color; less ghastly than the blood red she'd opted for earlier in the week.

"Bren!" you walk inside and drop your bag by the door, removing your shoes as well. Her smile falters as she continues to take in your demeanor and she grabs your hand, pulling you to the couch.

"He finally did it didn't he?"

"What?"

"He finally told you how he felt? After all this time," she says as she sips what appears to be hot tea.

"How can you tell?"

"You have that thoroughly confused look on your face, like when you're out with me and some of my friends and you're trying to digest all the pop culture references we make - sorting and storing them in that brain of yours."

"Yeah, but. How'd you know how he felt?"

"It's been a long time coming, hun. Want some tea?"

"Yes, please," you follow her over to her kitchen. She's had this studio for years, but every time you come here, it looks completely different. Which is saying a lot because you visit at least once every two weeks.

"So," she turns to you as she waits for the water to boil. "Tell me what happened."

"We were eating at the diner, and he mentioned something about futures and not sure where anything stands," you're still uncertain how the conversation had progressed to his declaration. "Then he started talking about the fact that he was thinking of settling down, stop living like a bachelor and everything."

You're trying to stall and Angela can read right through it. Rolling her eyes, she nudges you and tells you to, "go on."

"Then he said that for a long time, he had never really considered a relationship with me, that things were fine the way they were. But the past few months especially have made him begin to think otherwise."

"Not surprised."

"He said that he's tried really hard to focus on other things, invest his time elsewhere – "

"Psh, if that's what he's calling it," says Angela as she pours the hot water over your tea strainer. You give her a look, but keep going.

"But that he couldn't get me out of his mind and that now, regardless of how I feel, he just wants me to know that he loves me, that he always has, and that he probably always will."

"Wow," she takes a long sip of her tea and I can tell she's thinking about this a bit. "Did it feel really cliché?"

"No, he was very genuine about it, I just wasn't sure how to act. I've never given much consideration to ever having a relationship with him beyond friendship. "

"Did anything else happen?"

"Well," you frown at his, thinking if you can avoid the next part.

"You kissed him again, didn't you!" she cups her hand over her mouth and you sigh, pulling it away.

"Don't make it sound like such a big deal."

"But it is, it is a big deal," she says as she leans against the counter opposite you. "How was it?"

"The kiss?" She nods and you think. All things considered, it was a great kiss. "He was very… passionate and had excellent technique. He did this one thing with his tongue, I don't quite," you stop when you see Angela laughing quietly.

"What?"

"It's just, you're acting so calm about this. I mean, Booth finally tells you how he feels and–"

"Booth? Who said anything about Booth? I was talking about Brian," you correct, setting your cup down on the counter.

The color drains from Angela's face and think for a second that she might pass out.

"Brian! I meant Brian, sorry, Freudian slip," she says as she downs the rest of her tea. She starts going through her cabinets next and you watch her movements, trying to figure out what just happened.

She resurfaces with some rum and fills the teacup half way. You cock your head to the side and watch as she takes a generous sip. When she turns back to you, she seems to have regained her color.

"So… Brian huh? Was this kiss right before he left today?" she asks, but her voice sounds strange.

"Yes, we finished our meal and I told him that a relationship with him might be worth trying, but not while he's in Uganda."

"That makes sense," she says, much calmer than before. "You took him to the airport and bid farewell with a goodbye kiss then?"

"Sort of. We got to the car and started making out."

She chokes a bit as she takes a sip and you can tell that maybe you shouldn't have said that part. You can never tell half the time what you should say and what you should keep to yourself.

"A warning next time would be nice," she says as she sets the cup down and wipes her chin with a hand towel.

"How should I do that exactly?" you ask, curious to know how anyone could plan to release apparently innocuous information.

"Just. Never mind," she waves her hands in front of her and you can tell that you're being too literal again. "But you _did_ eventually make it to the airport right? He's not hiding out in the hallway or anything is he?"

"Oh yes. He left two hours ago. I'm not that rude, Angela, I would have certainly brought him in if he were still here."

"Right." She says as she grows quiet, thinking over your story. She seems perplexed.

"What's wrong?"

"I uh. I don't think Brian has a very realistic image of you. And to be honest, I know you would genuinely consider pursuing a relationship with him. But that stuff he was saying about settling down? He was talking about doing it with you. See, he's been in love with you for over ten years, Bren. After a while, you start to imagine what life would be like with that person and don't think that the fantasy and reality won't match up. He's had this image in his head of how life with you could be. You're viewing this as another, 'what the hell, why not?' kind of thing."

You remain silent as she says these things and you are struck by the sudden sense of hurt.

"That's not fair, Angela. That was a gross generalization of how I view relationships, and for your information, I have given it a lot of thought. I'm not as stupid at these things as you and Booth think I am. I can tell when a man is being sincere about his feelings towards me. Even though I may not have cared for him the same way, I can't deny how comforting it is to know that Brian cares enough about me to be willing to try to have a relationship regardless of the distance. "

"Bren, that's not what I meant. I'm sorry," she says as she rubs your arm. "I just want to see the both of you happy. The thing is, if you eventually pursued something with him, I don't think either one of you would be the better for it."

Your brow furrows with confusion. "Why not?"

"Because one day he would wake up and realize you aren't his fantasy. You're you: stubborn and loving and brilliant. And no matter what, he would stay, just because he's loved you for so long, he doesn't know any other way to be. You would never be fully happy because your heart doesn't belong to him," she stops abruptly and she looks like she wants to say more, but doesn't.

Coming to Angela's was supposed to make all of this clearer, not make it worse. Now you feel awful and you don't even know why. It was so much easier not having to worry about all these emotions.

"Sweetie, don't look like that. I'm really not trying to make you feel bad, I just want you to fully understand the implications of what's really going on."

She wraps her arms around you and you sigh, wondering how everything got incredibly messed up in the span of five minutes. You still can't get that one thought out of your head either.

"Ange?" you say, your voice muffled by her hair. "You actually meant Booth earlier, didn't you?"

She pulls away from you and grins, but it's not a happy one. "Oh, this is _so_ not the time for that conversation. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

You don't want to think about what a bridge has to do with anything, but you can tell there is more than she is letting on.

"Did he say something to you?"

Her back is turned to you as she's putting your cups in the dishwasher. She stops and turns around, looking at you curiously.

"No, but do you wish he had?" she asks, still giving you that odd look.

Considering she just smashed all your hopes of pursuing anything with Brian, you don't think you can handle her candor regarding Booth at the moment. Shaking your head and walking towards the couch, you start to believe that you don't _wish_ for that at all.

Angela's cell phone is going off and you pick it up off her coffee table, tossing it to her. She quirks her head to the side and pushes 'talk' giving you an odd look.

"Hey, speak of the devil… Oh good things I promise you… Yeah she's here, hold on."

She hands you the phone and she shakes her head as she walks away, muttering something about being in high school again.

"Hello?"

"I've called you three times. "

"I am aware of that. I don't want to talk to you right now, Booth."

"What? Why? You don't just come over to a man's house at 1:30 in the morning, soak his shirt with your tears and a heart-wrenching story, and not return his calls."

"Is there a reason why you called Angela's phone to speak with me?"

"Yeah," his tone changes a bit and he doesn't sound as haughty. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Clearly, you are. I'll leave you alone now."

"Booth," you sigh in to the receiver. "I'm sorry I didn't return your messages. There isn't anything wrong. I just need… a break. And, I figured you should focus more on being with your son than making sure I was okay."

"I could have done that better if you'd returned my first call," he sounds exasperated. You can see his point of view and scrunch down on the couch petulantly, forgetting where you are.

"I concede to your opinion and apologize. Next time I get kidnapped and tortured, you'll be the first to know," the sound of something breaking behind you pulls you from the conversation. Turning, you see a startled Angela with a multi-colored vase in shards at her feet, looking like you'd just struck her.

"Oh, NO! I have to go, bye Booth!" you hang up the phone and look at your best friend, clearly shaken by your words.

"You got what?" she exclaims.

Walking over to the couch, she sits right beside you and waits as you stubbornly try to avoid the second retelling of your abduction. This was not how you planned to end the weekend.

-+-+-+-+-+

A/N: In case you're wondering, I was Angela in this. No fun. The last thing with the phone, might not be accurate with Bren, she may be more discreet, but in a mary-sue-ish move, I lent another RL incident to the ending. Not sure if it's feasible, but I can't imagine there being a better way for Bren to tell Angela, and I felt it needed to happen. So, sorry if it's OOC.


	9. No Pie Tonight

Title: Pulse Point

Rating: K+

Pairing: B/B

Spoilers: The He in the She

Summary: Could you do nothing right today? Seriously.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I am overwhelmingly busy. Just a heads up, there will most likely be 2 chaps left. I can't provide you all with quality writing and devote the time I need for my studies. Secondly, I hate this chapter like it's dog poo on a brand new pair of shoes. So if you enjoy it, I am glad, because I definitely hated writing it. Hope you enjoy, and thank you very much for the reviews.

-+-+-+-+-+

No Pie Tonight

-+-+-+-+-+

Kissing. You're thinking about all the dynamics involved. Positioning, experience, desire, skill, outside factors, these all play a role in creating a kiss. Not merely a kiss, per se, but a _kiss._ One of those spine tingling, toe curling, leaves you breathless just thinking about it kind of kisses. Among other things, you happen to be very knowledgeable on this topic, having done and performed extensive research for a paper in your second year of undergrad.

You recall many long nights spent with your co-author, Lauren Matthews, trying to work _her_ out of her sweater instead of work out correct wording of passages. Not quite as successful as you'd hoped. Unfortunately, you ended up spending a lot of time watching old movies like _From Here to Eternity_ and chilled at the airport watching as families bid each other farewell. All in the name of science, right?

Right now, however, you're beginning to think you need to reevaluate your paper considering the sight before you. This kiss you're witnessing is all encompassing awesomeness. You'd rank it up there with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, or that kick-ass kiss at the MTV Movie awards with the Notebook stars, which happened to be the impetus for said paper.

Though, before you elaborate on your current location and why you are privy to such a scene, you think you should backtrack a bit. Say, back a couple weeks, to the Monday following Agent Booth's break-up with Jennifer.

Even though you were at the Jeffersonian consulting on a case throughout the week, you saw little of Agent Booth and even less of Dr. Brennan. As it tended to be in government positions, he was fast approaching his yearly evaluation. This just so happened to coincide with a committee of which he recently became chair. You try not to laugh at the thought of him sitting through those nauseatingly tiresome meetings, because those are sooo not his thing.

Agent Booth was holed up in the Hoover Building and Dr. Brennan was receiving a considerable amount of attention from the cover story in _Time_. You learned the declassified version of the events surrounding her trip in Uganda and did not envy the precarious situation she faced. On one hand, she had this genuinely righteous interest in these people, and on the other, she had to bear the strain and burden of the political ramifications from a relatively minor discovery she and Dr. John Mayat made.

You recall one particular occasion when you, Angela and Jennifer were sitting in Angela's office, watching a televised interview. Surprisingly, Dr. Brennan handled it well, considering her previous history.

"Oh, God, this is so much better than the last time she was interviewed," said Angela as she leaned forward in her chair, legs crossed anxiously.

"Yeah, I saw one of those too," said Jennifer. "I'd only interacted with her once and I was amazed that she'd approached me to co-author a paper. Then I saw her on TV and was like, 'Is she for real?' But then I spoke with her two weeks later and immediately felt horrible."

"I actually counseled her before she left for these interviews," you say, as you face them in your chair. "She seemed super nervous and jittery, so I ran through some questions they'd ask and tried to remind her that she'd need to relate her thoughts on the level of a regular eighth- grader. It was pretty funny actually."

"At least you worked it out with her," said Angela as she got sucked into the interview again. "I can't imagine what it's going to be like when the movie premieres."

"Wait, what?" asked Jennifer.

"One of Dr. Brennan's books was turned into a movie. They're doing post-production right now. Dr. Brennan has to go out to the studio in Vancouver for reshoots the week before Christmas."

"Seriously?" she seems completely surprised and you don't understand. "I knew her books were popular, but a movie? Wow."

"Yup. Who'd a thunk Bren would be so good at so many different things?" asked Angela. "Well, all except for interviewing. I really hope she doesn't hurt Soledad, she's the only one on CNN I like."

"Eh, I imagine she's dealt with worse," you say offhandedly. You're just glad Cam hasn't come in yet to see why you're here. It has nothing to do with the fact that you have a raging crush on Jennifer, but timing is key and she just had a break-up. That and the fact that she's older than Dr. Brennan, so you think that perhaps you'll just admire from afar. Or really close like right now.

"Have you ever experienced Brennan's wrath?" asked Angela pointedly. You frown.

"Not… exactly," you said slowly. "She just said that Agent Booth would take care of me if I did anything wrong."

"Ha, that totally doesn't count Lance. Booth coming at you is one thing, because you _know_ you're going to die. She'll just turn ninja - do it silent and deadly and never get caught."

"Psh, yeah, sure," you smiled nervously. She was totally right. You should've preemptively made a will, just in case.

The interview came to a close and everyone sat back and discussed it a bit further. Angela seemed a little on edge and it took you a minute, but you realized why. She _knew. _You knew that Agent Booth knew, and you knew everyone else really wanted to know what happened. But they settled for petty interviews and casual lines dropped here and there.

For example, at the end of that week you recall a particularly interesting discourse between the good doctor and the federal agent. They'd spent a majority of the day bickering, there wasn't anything overt or ingrained in it, but there was a detectable amount of frustration coating their words. You knew Agent Booth was no closer in sharing his feelings with her, and there was no way she was going to be receptive to any notions at the rate they were going.

You remember standing at the end of the platform near the steps talking with Dr. Saroyan and Angela about the motives of your killer of the week when you saw Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan emerge from her office. Agent Booth was trailing after her, looking all sorts of beleaguered and irritated. Something he said caused her to stop abruptly and turn, where he walked up and stood toe to toe with her, arms on his hips as protocol when making a point.

"I got shot Booth," she said angrily, "not mentally incapacitated, just back off so I can do my job!"

Angela had to physically close Dr. Saroyan's mouth while you all stood there slightly shocked as Dr. Brennan stormed up the steps to the platform, roughly pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Agent Booth simply stood there for a few minutes, giving her that look that you imagine Rhett Butler threw at Scarlett O'Hara on a daily basis.

Apparently he cooled off because he joined the group a couple minutes later, but they were both really tense for the rest of the meeting. You couldn't ask them about it because it had nothing to do with the case and they weren't meeting with you for another two days. That part really drove you crazy.

Later, when you were stuck in the break room's bathroom with them outside, you heard a conversation between them that spoke volumes about their relationship.

"Look, I can't not worry, Bones, it's who I am."

"I understand that, but you need to realize that I can take care of myself. I don't always need you to be there."

"What if I want to always be there?"

"What?" her voice kind of got quiet, so you weren't sure if she said more. You imagined that Agent Booth felt the need to back peddle.

"All I'm saying, is that I want to make sure you're okay. All the time. So please don't hold back from me."

"Me? You do it all the time, Booth." She was right on that one. "You keep everything so close, so private, so separate from work. I understand the courtesy of remaining professional, but I found out about you and Jennifer breaking up from Hodgins. Why couldn't you even tell me that?"

"It had nothing to do with our case, and besides, why does it matter if we broke up?" oh good. He was setting her up.

"I'm not saying it matters, it's the principle that I take issue with. You weren't the one to tell me. Just like when you died!"

"Oh here we go again. Are you still bent out of shape about that?"

"No, I'm over it now, but apparently you aren't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you were over it Booth, you would realize that I can take care of MYSELF. Just like I did when you died. I don't need you to protect me or put me back together, because when you do all that happens is you get hurt and I get… I get left behind. It would be better if you'd watch your own back for a change."

"That's what you're for," he offered despairingly. "And I am well aware, that you'd be fine without me. If I recall correctly you didn't even shed a tear at my funeral." You were surprised that they hadn't had this argument yet. It's been months. Several months, actually. They should write a book titled: How to Bottle your Emotions until you're Ready to Explode.

"Neglecting to cry in public at a funeral I didn't even want to attend does not convey in the slightest how I was affected. And why are we even talking about this!?"

"You started it!"

"Well I'm stopping it now. Just let it go, Booth. "

"Fine, but I'm still not signing that damn thing."

"Suit yourself."

You stood there nearly a minute before exiting the restroom. You were met with Agent Booth leaning against the table, waiting for you to emerge, arms crossed and visibly displeased.

"I think I want to know now," he stated plainly, looking very hard at you.

Swallowing, you knew exactly what he was talking about, but in this case, you felt that he needed to get this from the source. Additionally, you imagined that Dr. Brennan saved her sorrow for the solitude of her own home way from everyone, especially you.

"Agent Booth, when I offered to discuss with you the ramifications of that false death craziness, I was doing so under the assumption that you hadn't yet fully recognized your very obvious feelings. But now, I think that knowing what she went through wouldn't be beneficial, instead, it would probably make you feel guilty which wouldn't help the situation."

"Really? Because I spend half my day wondering if she's okay, if she's hurting, if her scar itches like mine still does. I think about the fact that if I had been the one protecting her, she would have never been kidnapped."

"You can't be certain about that, Agent Booth. The Agent they had on her was a former SEAL. I'm pretty sure he knew what he was doing."

"Then why the hell did he wait 6 days before coming to get her!?" his voice was raised, not at you, but in anger. It was understandable; you'd wondered the same thing multiple times.

"That's an excellent question, to which I have no answer, since I am not that guy. But I can tell you that all you're doing is spinning your wheels. Not very progressive of you."

"Thanks Sweets, I'm well aware. It's just, after she told me what happened, she backed off again. I thought it would get her to open up, instead all I get is that nightmare," he said while pointing towards her office. "I honestly didn't think she'd care that Jen and I broke up."

"Really? I find that hard to believe."

"What, you think I was trying to make her jealous?"

"Not intentionally, but you've had to suffer through her dating other men for years, it's only natural that you'd want to give her a taste of her own medicine."

He stood and quickly and walked closer to you, forcing you to lean into the bathroom door.

"Get this straight Sweets," his voice was rough and you could see how bloodshot his eyes were when he towered over you. "I cared for Jen a lot. I still do. Not once did I ever use her to get to Bones. Never. I value both of then too much treat them that way. It wouldn't be fair to anyone involved. "

You took in his words, but there was something about the way he was acting that made you think you were a little bit right. It's human nature to want to be desired by another.

"Okay Agent Booth, I understand that, but one thing: if you didn't think it mattered that you and Dr. Tate had broken up, then why _didn't_ you share that with Dr. Brennan?"

"I figured she had bigger things to worry about than my love life."

You shake your head and shrug. This conversation was pointless. He was being purposefully vague. Dr. Brennan had a point. He was much too guarded. It would definitely be a topic of discussion when you came together that weekend.

The meeting on Saturday was interesting, to say the least. They must have reconciled or possibly reached level ground, because their body language was screaming 'friends who totally want to jump each other!' at you. Both the people in front of you were familiar with body language, but did they ever study their own? Obviously Agent Booth was the better interpreter, but was he cognizant of the signals he sent everyone? Knowing him, probably.

Her legs were crossed towards him and they were sitting much closer than normal, while he had his hand draped over the back of the seat, slightly leaning into her. You wanted to take a picture just to show them at a later date.

"You two seem… not as… well, you seem to have worked things out."

The both looked at each other with mock confusion. You wonder if he told her. But then you think that they'd be wearing matching cheshire grins. Nope, not yet.

"Eh," said Booth with a shrug. "We closed our case, thanks to you, I might add. And she's being much nicer to me since I signed that… stupid thing."

"It's a will and testament Booth, not a stupid thing," she admonished.

"Wait, that's what you two were arguing about earlier? A will?"

"I was advised, after recent events, that it would be wise to draw up paperwork on an advanced directive and will in case anything should happen to me," she stated plainly. "I don't see why it's such a big deal, Booth. You have one."

He sighed at her and leaned against the arm of the couch, slightly agitated.

"You did not want to sign this, Agent Booth?"

"Look, people don't like being reminded of their own mortality, okay? I got a buddy in the hospital with a tube in his chest and a partner wanting me to sign a deed in case she dies doing something stupid or heroic. So yeah, I didn't want to sign it."

He crossed his arms at this point and was looking straight ahead. Okay then. Not going to push further with that one.

"Alright, Agent Booth I understand your perspective. But you two did manage to close the case, so at least your personal problems did not interfere with your professionalism." You stated this benignly, but Dr. Brennan looked at you oddly and you began to think you should correct yourself.

"Not saying that your personal lives ever interfere with work, right?" you said as you smoothed down the paper in front of you. Where were those points you wanted to discuss? Now they were both looking at you with their heads cocked to the side. Uncanny how they did that sometimes.

"What exactly are you insinuating Dr. Sweets?" asked Dr. Brennan as she leaned forward a little bit. You can handle this. Just because Angela tried to psych you out doesn't mean that Dr. Brennan could really kill you. Not at all.

"I'm merely wanting to explore how personal lives intersect with professional, that's all. Some people keep them completely separate by drawing a line and never crossing it, and others tend to let it all muddle together."

After saying the line comment, you noticed a very marked change in them both. Agent Booth was shooting you death glares and Dr. Brennan simply looked irritated. Could you do nothing right today? Seriously.

"You know, why don't we just talk about something entirely different. What do you-"

"Actually, no," interjected Dr. Brennan. "You brought up a valid point. Let's talk about that line again. Why do you think people draw lines, Dr. Sweets?"

You didn't even bother to slide your glance to Agent Booth. The sheer tension in the room was making you wish you could leave. Desperately. Maybe you could end it early. Fake a sudden illness, perhaps.

"I believe lines or boundaries are created so the parties involved never experience a conflict of interest."

"And what if the originator of the line crosses it?"

"Then I'd say the originator never really believed in upholding the line to begin with or there was a very good reason to cross it."

"But what about the conflict of interest? That doesn't disappear just because the line did."

"Enough!" burst Agent Booth. "No more hypothetical lines. If we're going to talk about lines, we can do it on our own time Bones. We don't need Sweets to tell us the reasoning behind them."

"I understood the reasoning behind them very well, thank you. I just didn't understand the other part. The hypocritical part."

You flinched as she said the last bit and you could tell she hit a sore spot. Even you would be somewhat angry if you someone suggested you were a hypocrite. You could only assume from this conversation that it was Agent Booth who drew a line between them and then crossed it somewhere along the way.

"Agent Booth thank you, I do encourage you to discuss lines and any other geometrical shape at another time. Before we wrap up for the evening, I was curious what you both were doing for Thanksgiving this week? Road trips? Football games?"

They both looked at you like you had a third head and you realized your futile attempt at a subject change was glaringly obvious at best.

"I'm spending it with Russ and my dad," said Dr. Brennan, who sounded a little hopeful.

"That sounds great, I imagine it'll be much better on your own terms this time. No bargaining with Ms. Julian for a room to celebrate or anything."

"Actually, that was Christmas, and I agree, not having to _bargain_ just to spend time with my family is wonderful."

Ouch. Even you felt the zing in that. She was in rare form tonight. Time to move along.

"What about you Agent Booth? Plans?"

"Nope."

"What?" asked Dr. Brennan quietly, clearly surprised. He didn't look at her, which was an obvious rebuff. Clearly he was hurt by her jab.

"No plans."

"Is there a reason for this?"

"Not really. My parents are going on a cruise, my brother managed to score tickets to the Eagles/Cardinals game and did not invite me. Parker will be with his mom and her boyfriend until Saturday night. There. Happy?"

"You can come with me," said Dr. Brennan, "Amy is a skilled cook and my dad said he was going with Russ to hunt a turkey, but I suspect they meant they were going to the grocery store," she said the last part as though she were thinking aloud. You couldn't help, but smile at her naiveté sometimes.

"No thanks," said Agent Booth roughly and you looked at him, astonished. Was he really going to act like an ornery old man? "I don't always need you to take care of me. Wouldn't want you to have to _bargain_ for a seat at the table."

His words were reminiscent of the conversation they had the prior afternoon and you began to wonder if you could simply walk out without them noticing.

"What if I want to?" asked Dr. Brennan and you both did a double take. She sucked her lip between her teeth when she realized the implication of her words and she colored visibly. "What I meant was, what if I want you to be there. Actually I need your assistance. Amy put me in charge of making two pies and we both know I don't deal well with pie. "

Agent Booth was looking at her with an amused grin on his face as he watched his partner ramble through a very botched cover up. Oh geez. Those two were going to be the death of you.

"Fine. I'll think about it Bones."

She got a pleasant smile on her face and you could tell his words pleased her. Like there was any doubt that he would be sitting right beside her on Thanksgiving, passing around a plate of ToFurkey and some green bean casserole. You can feel the holiday cheer all the way from here.

The conversation got noticeably brighter and less aggrieved after her peace offering. You could tell as they left, bidding you farewell, that they were almost back to normal. Almost.

Throughout the week, you were aware that they'd gotten another case, but you weren't needed for it. You ran into Agent Booth after a meeting, but he was a hard guy to read when he wasn't around Dr. Brennan. Simply gave you a nod and rubbed your shoulder in passing.

Now it's Saturday evening and you're tired from all the family you saw the past two days. Regardless of how awesome the food is, nothing can make up for the sheer horror of being out of college and still having to wear a wool sweater with Rudolph stitched on the front. Still, no more Maw-Maw sweaters for 365 days. Score!

The computer screen glows brightly before you. It's warm and quiet in the building, and your light is the only one illuminating the darkened office. You smile to yourself as your arms rest across your chest, your college sweatshirt doffed hours ago as you settled in to write the finishing touches on your first draft.

There is a certain satisfaction that comes with the completion of a labor of love. This paper, which is laying the foundation for your book, has taken a lot out of you. Hours of exhaustive research, coupled with real life observation and experience have increased your confidence in this area.

This paper explores a combination of aspects that make partnerships work: non-verbal communication, foundations, tolerance, mutual respect, trust, outside factors, etc. Three different partnerships are being used for this paper, though they were merely the stand out cases. You actually have a pool of 75 partnerships and nearly a year of research. Two male-male partnerships, and one male-female were used. All told, none of them were truly as remarkable as that of Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan.

Many hours have been spent pondering what it is that makes them work, what it is about their partnership that is so magnetic, so successful. You could say it's the genuine respect they feel for each other, the honesty and support they glean. You could say it's the burgeoning love, and though it helps, it wouldn't be entirely true. Among many things, they work well together because they've never stopped evaluating and adapting what the other brings into their lives, what the other means to them. It is, in your humble opinion what makes a great relationship work.

As you save your documents and make duplicate copies on all your flash drives, you pull your sweatshirt over your head and grab your messenger bag, tucking some files inside and closing the flap. Lights off and away you go. The faint rumbling of your stomach reminds you that your mom's leftovers are 45 minutes away, but the diner is infinitely closer.

Pie it is. Hot coffee and a slice of pie, or maybe a root beer float. Mmmm. Yes. Root beer float will do just fine. Your breath precedes you as you walk through the faint clouds towards you car. The D.C. weather finally decided to recognize winter and you're ready for it. Slushy snow and dingy streets. What could be better than winter?

As you make the short trip to the diner, you absently wonder if Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan will be there, but you quickly dismiss the possibility. Agent Booth is supposed to be with his son and Dr. Brennan is probably identifying the remains of some ancient civilization. You park around the corner and climb out, rubbing your hands together in the cold. Maybe you'll have coffee _and_ a root beer float.

As you round the corner, you stop dead in your tracks as you catch sight of two people across the street, standing near the entrance of the diner. He's got his hands stuffed in his pockets and she's clutching her purse with her right hand. You wonder what they're trying to hold back from doing. You watch as they both smile sadly at each other and turn in opposite directions, both heading towards their respective cars. Frowning, you take a step forward towards the street, but pause when you see Dr. Brennan turn suddenly and call out Agent Booth's name.

Though you know it isn't possible, you feel like the scene before you progresses in slow motion. By the time he turns around, she's right in front of him. Before anyone knows what's going on, she's placed both hands on his face, pulling him in and kissing him soundly on the lips. All you can hear is your heart beating.

It's not long, nor is it particularly passionate, but it is definitely meaningful. You watch as she steps back, her hands still cupping his cheeks while he looks completely dumbfounded. She says something, now would be the time for supersonic hearing, and then she starts to turn around, giving him a coy smile.

Oh but Agent Booth has finally hopped on the train and grabs her arm, pulling her back to him. Of all things sane and holy! This is what directors aim for in those best kiss scenes.

Unaware that you've been holding your breath, you exhale as you watch Agent Booth with his hand in her hair and his other one holding her so tight there is definitely no space between them. Dr. Brennan has both her arms wrapped around his shoulders like he's her anchor and she isn't going anywhere. You unwittingly tug at your collar, wondering how much longer they can continue without stopping to breathe, because it has to be some kind of record at this point.

You should probably stop watching at this point, but you can't. You need this type of validation. Oh, they stopped. They're still really close, breathing deeply. He steals another kiss, and then another, and well, they're back at it again. You don't know what appendage is where because they are all sorts of tangled up. Oh goodness. This could take a while.

Finally, you call it quits. You came, you saw, you conquered. You don't even need root beer or coffee. Running your hand through your hair and shaking your head to yourself, you wonder if you should report this so everyone can collect on the office bet of 'will they, won't they?' Turning away, you take one last look and see them both, standing closely with their foreheads touching, talking the way they always have – too close, too deep, too intensely.

So, there are kisses and then there are _kisses_. For example, a kiss in terms of conversation is similar to a 'hello? How are you?' or a 'Why yes, I did wear this super tight skirt so you wouldn't be able to resist me.' Then there are _kisses_. The kind you see in front of diners, old movies, or at train stations when the two lovers are parting for an indefinite period of time. The kind where time stops simply to observe the sheer energy exchanged, experience the chemistry involved, feel the overwhelming feeling of _it_. That one connection you need to make. Just once.

-+-+-+-+-+

A/N: Here's the deal. I can cover the events of thanksgiving in a probably overly done insufficient fashion, or I can just forge ahead and let you make guesses. I wouldn't mind writing it, though it will be light on fluff. Can only do that once a story. Let me know, if you don't mind. Thanks!


	10. Charlie Brown

Title: Pulse Point

Pairing: B/B

Rating: K+

Spoilers: Up to the He in the She

Summary: Two things you note upon waking. One, you are precariously close to the edge of the bed. Two, Bones is a cuddler.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Last chap before the epilogue. Hope it works out for you all. I liked writing this one much more than the last one. I aimed for realism with this chapter. The whole story has been relatively angst-ridden, so I gave our OTP some love in this. Enjoy! And thank y'all for taking the time to review, it sure means a lot.

-+-+-+-+-+

Terrified would be the adequate word to describe your feelings at the current moment. Not really terrified, maybe more apprehensive than terrified. But the frantic beating of your heart in your chest suggests otherwise.

The elevator crawls slower than a quadruple amputee and you wonder if it is conspiring with traffic in order to impede your progress over here. Finally the doors spread and you walk down the hall towards her door, knowing that you could break it down if necessary.

Instead, you settle for a steady knock and run your hand through your hair as you take a deep breath. No answer. You try not to think the worst, but you can't help it. She's doing exactly what you feared - avoiding you. Steeling yourself, you knock once more, this time a bit harder.

Not more than two seconds later does the door open to reveal a very pale, very clammy, very ill looking Bones. Immediately concern overwhelms you as you take in her appearance, marveling at the drastic transformation. You'd seen her only four hours ago, and she looked very… not deathlike.

"Bones, what the? What happened?" you shut the door as you follow her towards a place you've only dreamed about: her bedroom. She has on running shorts and a dark tank top that allow you ample opportunity to admire her floor-to-ceiling legs and toned arms. Shaking your head, you watch as she goes into her bathroom and shuts the door in your face.

"Bones?"

The sound of retching makes you even more nervous and you can't decide whether or not to push the door open. You opt to remain outside, knowing that she shut it for a reason and if she wanted you in there, she'd have let you in.

The toilet flushes and you hear sounds of a faucet running and realize she's brushing her teeth. Then you hear her gargling and the faucet running once again. She comes out, patting her face with her towel and she frowns at the concerned look on your face.

"It's not that bad. Apparently I'm allergic to the antibiotic I was prescribed."

"What? Why are you on antibiotics?"

"Without my spleen I run a greater risk for infection. I've been running a low-grade fever the last few days with all the stress of our case and being out in the woods. My physician advised that I take the antibiotic just to be safe. Unfortunately, this is my first time with ampicillin."

"Do you want me to get you anything? Why didn't you call me?"

"We never established any set plans for this evening. I went for a jog at the gym, started to feel ill and came home. I've been in the bathroom ever since."

"Oh. So you weren't avoiding my calls?"

"Why would I avoid your calls?"

"Because you don't want to…" you aren't sure how to phrase this without coming across as a callous jerk. "Maybe because you're starting to change your mind."

The look of disappointment crosses her face and you feel ashamed. She moves away from you and goes to her dresser, pulling out a fleece pullover. Turning around, she leans back against the dresser and crosses her arms.

"You thought I was running from you?"

"I thought that maybe you were beginning to rethink what happened and we haven't really had an opportunity to talk about everything, so I was uneasy because I didn't know where I stood."

You want to say more, but she looks really pale and you think this conversation should occur when she can truly hold her own. Not waiting for a rebuttal, you walk over to her and wrap her up in a careful hug, not wanting to jostle her. She's tense and unforgiving against you, but you can feel the sheer fatigue coming off her in waves.

"I can't talk about this right now," she whispers into your chest, her arms still crossed.

"I understand. How about you lie down for a while? I'll get you some water and maybe some crackers?"

"I don't know about the food yet. But I think there's a Gatorade on the second shelf, if you don't mind," she says this softly as you pull the covers from her queen size bed and watch her fold her endless legs under the sheets.

"No problem, I'll be right back."

In the kitchen, you fill a glass with the obnoxious colored drink and take a second to calm your nerves. You're not sure if you feel relief or shame. Relief because she wasn't calling you due to being sick, or shame because you feel relief at that being the reason. As you walk back into her room you can't tell if she's already asleep, so you place the glass quietly on her nightstand.

Pulling the covers up over her shoulders, you place a kiss in her hair and prepare to head back to her living room, but you hear her call your name softly. Walking back, you kneel on the floor beside the bed.

"Yeah, Bones?"

"Stay," she says, it's not a command, nor is it a request. It just is.

"I am," you say as you brush some hair out of her face. "I'll just wait for you in the living room."

"No, stay here," she says it in a voice and manner that seems foreign to her. And you recognize the vulnerability in her words. You nod in understanding and remove your shoes and coat, draping it over the large, comfy reading chair in the corner. You climb on top of the covers, not wanting to make her too uncomfortable and begin to rub her back, unknowingly mirroring her actions with your son a few weeks prior.

Her soft breathing gives way to more labored breaths and you know she's asleep. Taking the opportunity to explore your new environment, you peer around the room curiously. There's a large painting on the opposite wall that isn't wholly awful like some of her other relics, so you can at least appreciate that. The room is neat and organized, the walls decorated by various pictures and artifacts. Looking on the nightstand, you see a picture of her with her dad and brother at a dinner table on a pier. Russ' arm is draped over her shoulder while she's got her arm interlinked with her father's. Knowing that you took a small part in bringing her family back together warms your heart greatly.

Another picture on her nightstand is of her 'work family' after a barbecue this past spring. Hodgins and Angela were still together then, Zack wasn't guilty of murder, and you weren't dead. It was a good evening and you remember more than one occasion feeling the desire to pull her under a weeping willow and kiss her senseless. The picture was taken by Zach and it's got Bones and Angela hugging and laughing while you sit between Angela and Hodgins, apparently shaking you head, laughing while you both clink beers. You look closer at the picture and realize Bone's is looking at you in the shot, but it's more than that, it's the look she has in her eyes that keeps your gaze.

A thought rushes into your mind that makes you want to examine the past few months. How long has she had feelings for you? Feelings that are easy enough to see in an otherwise benign picture?

A visible shiver coming from your partner breaks you from your thoughts and you inch down the bed, sliding up behind her. You wrap your arms around her carefully and take a slow, deep breath. She smells like sweat and traces of perfume, but it's still her, still the same comforting scent that claims your senses every time she's near. The steady rhythm of her breathing lulls you into a daze even though you aren't tired. Before you know it, you've fallen asleep wrapped around her body like a blanket.

Two things you note upon waking. One, you are precariously close to the edge of the bed. Two, Bones is a cuddler. Throughout the course of your combined nap, you'd rolled onto your back with your hand tucked beneath your head. Somehow, she'd managed to inch you over to the edge of the bed and then curl up tightly beside you, almost as though she could drown beneath the sea of covers.

As much as you don't want to wake the softly snoring ball emanating from the depths within, you settle for rubbing the small part of her back in an attempt to claim your arm, which she is using as a pillow. At least you think that's what she's doing.

Soon after, she starts to wake. Surprisingly, she's very slow in her movements. First she pulls her flushed, damp head from the covers, next she stretches languorously, and then she takes a long, deep yawn. Her fever must have broken during the nap, because you feel the heat coming off her like she was in a sauna. She's still a little out of it as she slowly looks over at you, clearly confused by your presence.

"Booth?" her voice is scratchy as she squints at you through the dark.

"Yes?" you're trying to wake up the dead arm you have beside you. It is not at all comfortable.

"You're in my bed."

"Actually, I'm on top of your bed per your request."

"Oh," she says without debate. "What time is it?"

"It's eleven at night."

"We slept for 4 hours?" her eyes get saucer-like. You can't help but smile.

"Yes, yes we did. Are you hungry?"

She shakes her head firmly as she pulls her arms out and lays them beside her on the covers. Finally, she picks up her head and observes your close proximity to the edge.

"You could have asked me to scoot over."

"Ha! Has anyone told you that you're a hard sleeper?"

"No, what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I could have brought a marching band in here for warm-ups and you wouldn't have budged a bit."

"I disagree, I tend to be a light sleeper."

"Well, not when you don't feel good."

A hunger pang strikes you for the second time in ten minutes. She may not be hungry, but you sure are.

"I need food. Soon. I may eat my hand."

"That wouldn't be a good idea. There is very little meat on your hand and it is much more valuable as a tool than satisfying your hunger."

"Ah, there's my Bones. Come on, you need to get up, get rehydrated."

She rises slowly from bed, first to a sitting position and then fully standing. Her pullover is crooked and her shorts are wrinkled, but she looks so damn cute. After pulling her very damp hair up, she goes into the bathroom while you slip on your shoes and return to the kitchen. You fill a glass of water and place it on the counter for when she comes out. Before pulling out the phone book, you rustle through her cabinets, but aren't successful. All her food is too healthy. You need something that has at least 5 grams of saturated fat. You settle on Indian food and jot down a short list as she emerges from her hallway.

"Do you think you could handle some naan? That shouldn't be too rough on you," you ask as she climbs on a stool behind the counter, sipping from the glass you left her.

"I guess so," she seems both tired and contemplative and you can't tell if she wants you to leave or not.

"Maybe I should go," you say suddenly and she looks up at you in surprise. Some of the color has returned to her cheeks, but she still doesn't look one hundred percent.

"What? No, you can stay and eat," she paused to take a sip. "Besides, you said we needed to talk about," her fingers shifted between you both in uncertainty, "this."

"I don't really know if we should though, in your current state and everything."

She huffs out a breath and reaches over to her phone, plucking it from the cradle and pushing it towards you to make your call. Tipping your head in thanks, you dial up the number and place your order. After returning the phone you notice that Bones isn't sitting on the stool anymore. The sound of the shower running alerts you to her current location.

You grab a beer from the fridge and plop down on the couch, exhaling loudly. Though the whole Thanksgiving holiday was wonderful, the week afterward was absolutely horrible. A four-year-old kid was found in a tree house in the woods up near Baltimore and it took three days to get a solid lead on the case. Not only that, but the entire team was on board for this one, and it involved long hours and more than one heated conversation.

A few times throughout the week you caught her looking at you, her mind elsewhere. She still doesn't know exactly how you feel about her and you know she doubts the sincerity of the kiss you both shared the week before. The conversation that provoked the whole exchange was a little difficult and you're not even sure what made her kiss you.

All you remember was her drawing the conclusion that you had no interest in her, but that your actions confused her sometimes. She wanted you to decide where you stood. Somehow it had gone from you waiting for her realize her own feelings to you being the one at fault. You were no where near prepared to hash out your feelings in the diner, especially when she still seemed to think that you weren't even attracted to her. Then she just planted one on you, much to your delight.

The days before that must have tipped her off though, especially when you spent Wednesday night helping her make the pies. It was a great night; you'd gotten an outstanding performance appraisal, which put you in top shape for a promotion. She'd opened up a bottle of red and then another and you both cooked and ate in your typical fashion, but it was different somehow. You were overly playful and she kept you on your toes with her unusually sarcastic (let's face it, she's no good with sarcasm) comments. As you leaned over and kissed her goodbye on the cheek with your hand on her waist, you didn't even think about breaking taboo, until you pulled away and saw the mildly surprised look in her eyes.

The next day you were cloaked in an Eagles sweatshirt and had on your lucky boxers, silently cursing your brother every time you thought of the prime seating he had at the game. Because Bones had the nicest place, everyone assembled at her house, and you smiled at seeing her whole family together. Russ kept you company on her couch, supporting you and your team as you both watched the game with fervor on her amazingly huge plasma. You remember going with her to the store when she just pointed at the premium one with the couch set up in front of it. Must be nice to be able to put down a chunk of change and not think twice. Max would wander over occasionally, but he tended to sit at the counter talking with Amy and Bones in the kitchen while watching the girls color at the table.

More than one occasion Bones happened to look over and caught you watching her, but she never blushed or turned away. She simply smiled that dangerous smile she had and kept on about her business. High off the Eagles win, your cheer was infections as you all ate from the delicious spread. Dinner was incredible, you offered to watch Amy's girls if she'd cook for you, which earned you smiles and a pointed look or two. Afterward the whole family piled into Amy's van and you all went for a walk on the Mall, where you and Bones argued over where the best ice cream place was – much to everyone's amusement.

The pies were fantastic, if you do say so yourself, and there was nary a crumb left to lick from the pans. Everyone helped clean up and settled down to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. The girls climbed all over Bones to watch the show and you could tell that even though she was overwhelmed, she enjoyed the love they lavished on her.

After they all left, you helped her bring the glasses into the kitchen and thanked her for inviting you, telling her you were glad she finally got to have a family and not be _that person_. She'd been standing beside you leaning against the counter and nudged you playfully as she bent her head in thought.

"I wouldn't have any of this, if it wasn't for you," she said quietly, sadly. You balked at the comment and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, disagreeing with her. She pushed off from the counter and turned to you with a look in her eyes you still can't define. It was then that you began to think that you could get away with kissing her and not die afterward. You didn't though. Settling for another soft kiss on the cheek, you said your goodbyes and retreated home.

Friday drove you crazy because you were off work and bored and you couldn't get her out of your head to save your life. It was worse than normal. The preceding day had been so overwhelmingly domestic that you felt out of place in your own home. You had nothing to do until your hockey match later that evening so you headed to the bar and watched another football game with your neighbor who was escaping his in-laws.

By Saturday afternoon, even Parker's impending arrival couldn't help your state. You dropped by the lab and found her elbow deep in limbo, parsing together what looked to be unidentifiable remains. When she couldn't tell you the last time she ate, you dragged her to the diner, if only to be with her instead of thinking of her. Though she mentioned she was having dinner with Max, she still had a salad and sipped on her chocolate milkshake while you told her about your game. Then she dropped that doozy about_ lines_ and wondered what was going on between you both.

The kiss.. wow. You hadn't been expecting it, but when you finally had a taste of her, you couldn't get enough. She was absolutely intoxicating, drawing you in with each touch, each kiss, each smile against your lips. When you finally separated, you could hardly remember what day it was until you realized you had five minutes to get over to Rebecca's. It was the first and only time you wanted to let Rebecca keep your son for the night.

Early Monday morning you took a sip of the coffee from the Jeffersonian break room and grimaced as you walked into Bones' office.

"Ugh, you need to stop letting Jen make the coffee, this is so–" you halted upon entering, mumbling "weak." Catching Bones and Angela deep in conversation you already had one foot turned the opposite direction. Angela had a grin from ear to ear that provoked an immediate eye roll from you.

"You know, I just," you place a hand on your hip in mock contemplation. "I'm just gonna come back in 5 and I want whatever you're talking about to be done and I want that" you pointed your finger in a little circle at Angela, "smile you've got there off your face."

"Mine will come off when yours does," she shot back. Zing.

"Hmph," is all you could say as you threw a quick glance at an unreadable Bones and headed toward the platform.

And that was how much your week had been - small snapshots of glorious potential, surrounded by horror. No time for romantic interludes when two very grief-stricken parents were breathing down your neck with your boss making it very clear the priority of the case.

Before your mind can wander down a dark and lonely road, you find a refreshed looking Bones standing before you. You mourn the loss of her running shorts, traded in for a soft pair of flannel pajama pants and another pullover, the color blue that makes her eyes almost glow. The delivery guy knocks on the door and you give him a twenty while he gives you your delightfully aromatic food. Turning back around, you find yourself a little nervous and you smile to yourself, thinking how crazy things have become.

You follow her into the kitchen to get another beer and to somehow calm your nerves. There is absolutely no reason to feel like you're in high school right now, because that was almost twenty years ago. But as she hands you the bottle opener without you asking and turns towards the cabinet to get you a plate and fork, you're overcome for some odd reason. Popping off the lid, you place the bottle opener beside her on the counter while her back is to you and start to back away, but her cool fingertips on your arm keep you in place.

She's got that indefinable look in her eyes again, and you're starting to wonder if she's had it all along. Moving your hand to her hip, your thumb grazes the soft skin of her stomach, causing her to suck in a breath. Her other hand moves to the side of your face, where she works out your worry lines with a simple brush of her fingertips, then traces your side burns down to your jaw. You watch as she looks down for a moment, her gaze flickering across the fabric lines on your shirt, and feel the coolness of her hand on your face. Her uncertainty matches yours and you know, know it with all your heart and mind, that this is right.

When she looks up again her eyes bounce back and forth between your lips and eyes. She moves in tentatively, without the fire and courage of the last kiss she initiated. You feel a flood of warmth overwhelm your senses as her soft lips part, causing your own to welcome her tongue lavishing light glances on your lips. She tastes like mint and you know she's probably brushed her teeth about five times since her nap, knowing she hates being ill.

As her tongue flicks against yours she glides her fingers through your hair, grazing your neck with her short nails. You moan quietly and move closer to her body, but you can tell this isn't a kiss that will progress any further. It's a tender, dare you say – loving kiss, and she is using it as a thank you. Soon you pull apart and you find that you've wrapped your fingers in her hair and your other hand had climbed up the back of her shirt. She kisses you again, chastely this time and you smile at her actions, kissing her back in turn.

"Booth," she murmurs against you lips.

"Hmmm?"

"I'm pretty sure Indian foot doesn't reheat well."

You pull away and bury your head in the crook of her neck, breathing her in slowly. There is no better smell than a woman freshly out of a shower, unless you too are coming out of that same shower with her. Placing a few feather-light kisses along the nape of her neck, you smile as you feel her grip tighten on the back of your shirt and a sigh escape her lips. Moving up again, you kiss her once more then step away begrudgingly.

Conversation is light as you eat. You don't dwell on anything, and you both briefly touch on what you would have done differently with this case, how you both could work on specific things in the future to make a case involving a child run a little smoother. She eats a little piece of naan, but sticks mostly to her water, nursing it like it's a two hundred dollar glass of top shelf whiskey.

"I don't think we should make a big deal out of this," she says suddenly, and you look up at her quickly. "I mean, I just think that we should take it slowly, so we don't do something that could irrevocably damage our working relationship. I think we can both remain professional at work, and as long as you let me take care of myself, we won't have any problems."

"Woah, what's that supposed to mean? 'Take care of myself'? Do you think I'm going to march around shooting anyone that looks at you funny?"

"No, I just don't want you to interfere or get in the way if a man does something you don't like. You almost punched that officer the other day when he was asking for my number."

"We were at a crime scene!"

"It wasn't our crime scene though, and he was just directing traffic."

"Which he _wasn't _doing, because he was too busy ogling you," you scoop the rest of the basmati rice into your mouth and set your fork down on the table.

"Regardless. I don't want to see any of that. You know I can handle myself, and that would be the quickest way to make me angry."

You remain silent for a few minutes, trying to think of how you can reign yourself in. You know how men look at her and it bothers you to no end. It always has. Most of the time, she isn't even paying any attention, which makes it ten times worse.

"Fine, I will do my best not to go all alpha-male, but do me a favor and walk around in a trash bag for the rest of your life."

"What?"

You take a long swig of beer and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Shaking your head at her. She's got a bemused look on her face as she studies you. Even now you still don't know what's going on in her head.

"Did you mean it?" you ask as you set your fork down. "What you said last week."

"What? That I think your line was stupid?"

"That, but the part where your feelings had gotten stronger before you left for Uganda."

She's looking at you right now like she's trying to work out a defense in case you shut her down. There isn't any reason to be making her work this hard, but your own selfish heart is wary of getting stomped on.

"Before I left, I had things I wanted to say to you. I don't really know if they would have established anything, though," she's looking down at the runner on her table, tracing the designs with her finger. "But when I was gone, I felt the loss of your presence very distinctly. Everything seemed a little off somehow. I can't really describe it."

"Kind of like you had two left shoes on?"

She contemplates your phrase and nods, pulling her hair back up and away from her face.

"I felt the same way."

Her arms are crossed on the table and the sleepiness is falling back into her eyes. There are things you need to say before you leave here tonight, things she needs to know. You reach across the table and lay your hand on hers, drawing her fingers out and twining them with your own.

"When I started dating Jen, it wasn't to get back at you or anything. There's a reason I hadn't dated anyone in so long, Bones," you take a breath and proceed. "Most of it had to do with you. Even if I went out on a sporadic date, I always found something lacking in my date that brought my mind back to you. Even when Cam and I were together, you were still a constant presence, sort of like this elephant in the room. The only reason Jen and I broke up was that she realized that I'd never be able to give my whole heart to her, and she was right, because it already belongs to you."

Her eyes get big as you say the last part, and even you are a little surprised at your moment of weakness. Man was that sappy. It was more than you wanted to share, but you think she can handle it. You hope at least. She looks mildly afraid, and you start to back peddle a bit, pulling your fingers from hers.

"I mean, I don't, I'm not, whew. I'm going to go now. I think we've talked enough for one evening." You want to be braver than this, but you're not sure your heart can take it. She has the potential to hurt you so badly and you're afraid that even if she didn't try to, she would.

She doesn't say anything as she carries your plate to the sink while you toss your boxes into the trash. After rinsing, she sets the plate in the dishwasher and wipes her hands on a dishtowel. You remember that your jacket is still in her bedroom and frown.

"Uh, my uh, jacket. Left it in your room," you motion that way and she nods, watching as you walk back to her room. When you turn after grabbing it, you see her silhouette as she leans against the door and your heart almost bursts from your chest.

"Jesus! Bones, make some noise next time."

She's walking over to you with her arms crossed like she's a little cold, and you're struck once again by how young she looks, how innocent. She hasn't killed fifty people. She doesn't have their ghosts beating at her door. But she has her own demons though, and that's plenty enough.

"I need you to sit for a minute," she says quietly and you comply, sitting down in her reading chair behind you. She starts pacing a little and her vulnerability, though hidden deep within, shows in her movements.

"You're the reason I'm still alive," she says quickly. You're not sure what to do with that statement, so you remain silent, letting her work out whatever she's got cooped up in that brain of hers.

"There have been several incidents over the past four years in which I've come near death, most of them physical. But, when Hodgins and I were buried alive, even though I didn't quiet understand how I felt, I knew that somehow I needed to get through that, if only to argue with you again. But over the years, it got to be less about what was happening and more about how I was reacting to things."

She stops for a minute and looks at you and you can tell she's trying to remain strong. To not get overwhelmed by all the feelings she is experiencing.

"When you were shot and we all thought you died, I didn't handle it very well. I know Angela told you about me getting rid of everything that reminded me of you. But, it was hard. Really, hard. You're my best friend, and I lost that. When you came back, it was difficult for me to process having you in my life again. Then everything happened with Zach and I had to find a replacement, which was impossible. No matter how busy I got or what happened, I still felt a little out of place, even with you back. So I left, I went to Uganda, thinking that I needed to reconnect with my work; with the reason I became an Anthropologist. It was great for a while, but it wasn't enough. Towards the end of the trip, while I was kidnapped and soon after, all I could think about was trying to survive and to get back here."

She's been taking small steps towards you this whole time and now she's right in front of you. The tie on her pants has been knotted and unknotted frequently by her fingers. Her voice has slowly gotten quieter and softer, 'til now, it's only a whisper that cracks on occasion.

"I wanted to give in so badly. I hurt everywhere and I was so, so tired. But every time I thought it would be my last breath, I heard your voice in my head and you kept telling me that you wouldn't be okay if something happened to me, that you needed me. It's so irrational, when I look back I think I was hallucinating from the drugs they were giving me, but I still remember it."

You lean forward a little and slide your hands up the back of her legs and over her butt, pulling her hips closer to you. Closing your eyes, you settle your forehead on the flat of her stomach right below her breasts and wrap your arms around her waist. She places her hands on your head, combing her long fingers through your hair.

"I came back for you," she whispers as she kisses the top of your head and you've never felt more connected with another person in your life. The pure intimacy of the moment causes you to suck in a deep, shuddering breath. Somehow you manage to pull her into the chair with you, her legs draped across your lap and her head buried between your neck and shoulder. All you do is hug her tightly to you, thanking God for bringing this woman into your life and for all the comfort she provides you.

She walks you to her door a little later with a sleepy smile on her face and you kiss the corner of her lips with a promise for brunch the following morning. Though she rolls her eyes, she grabs your jacket and pulls you in for a deep, breathless kiss and you almost don't leave. But somehow, you muster the willpower to say goodnight and leave with a stupid grin plastered to your face.

-+-+-+-+-+

It's been two weeks and she's leaving for Vancouver in a few days. She thinks it's stupid that she has to go to begin with, but you know a part of her will enjoy seeing her book made into a film. She's to see a rough-cut screening and to assist with the more technical aspects of the script as they film the reshoots. You offer to lend your expertise as well, but her agent doesn't take too kindly to your request.

You have Parker this weekend and though you didn't outright say it, he's somehow figured out that Bones is your girl. It probably had to do something with her coming with you to pick him up from school Friday before you three went out to dinner, but you aren't sure. He played twenty questions with her as you drove to his favorite restaurant, and you couldn't help but smile as he absorbed each new fact like a sponge.

"My son is going to be a squint, isn't he?" you asked her as you held the door open for them.

"If we're lucky, Agent Booth," she said with a smart jab as she followed him in, his hand in hers.

The following night you and Parker show up at her door with popcorn and Charlie Brown's Christmas. She mentioned after Thanksgiving that it was her favorite. Upon seeing it, her eyes light up and you know you're getting an extra long kiss tonight.

Parker is settling down in her living room while she makes some hot chocolate and puts some homemade chocolate-chip cookies on a plate for you three. After tossing Parker a blanket and making sure the fire is providing adequate heat, you slide up behind her in the kitchen. Placing your hands on her hips you lean down and kiss her on the neck and breathe her in, growing somewhat dizzy off the heady feeling you get. Her smile and soft laugh are music to your ears and you can't imagine a better way to spend an evening than with your two favorite people. A debate ensues shortly after over whether whip cream or marshmallows are better in hot chocolate. In the end a truly magnanimous compromise is made when you opt for both.

Later, as Pigpen and Charlie Brown trudge through the snow, you lean back in the corner of her couch with her nestled beside you, your arm draped over her shoulder. Parker is on his second cookie and has about half of it smeared across his face, but he's enraptured by the cartoon and you see so much of yourself in him. Miracle on 34th street is the encore film and by 10:30 both your partner and son have eyelids lower than half-mast. For some odd reason, you are not surprised.

You help her carry the coffee mugs and plate into the kitchen and steal some Christmas cheer, one kiss at a time. When she pulls back from you with a smile on her lips you catch that look in her eyes and are glad you can now describe it as love. Even though she won't say it, doesn't mean you don't feel it. Her fingers trace your jaw line and glide down your neck and she stops once again, on that spot where your heartbeat is plainly visible.

"You know," she says wistfully as she cocks her head to the side wrapping her arms around you, "sometimes your pulse speeds up when I give you a really good kiss. Like right now," she says as she leans in and captures your lips, making your stomach drop out as she swirls her tongue around yours and quickly bites your lower lip. When finally she pulls away, you both are breathless and flushed.

"You sure you can handle that?" she asks playfully. You chuckle and kiss her again, then back away ever so slowly.

She watches you from her counter as you pick up your dead to the world son. Parker hums in his sleep and you shake your head at your crazy kid, while she tucks the DVD under your arm. You watch as she folds up the blanket perfectly and places it on the chair, catching a little glimmer in her eyes.

"Hey, you okay there, Bones?" you ask, as she seems to realize the way she must look. Blinking hard, she gives you a reassuring smile as she places a hand on your cheek, letting out a slow breath.

"Yeah," she nods. "I'm okay now."

Though you want to press her further, Parker is getting pretty heavy and you know you should get home. She kisses Parker's head and gives you a kiss on the cheek, agreeing to meet you Monday for breakfast before you both head into court.

As she waves goodbye to you while the elevator doors close, you wonder hopefully when the time will come when saying goodnight consists of you falling asleep in each others arms, feeling her heart beat beneath your hand and knowing it's as steady as your own.

-+-+-+-+-+

A/N: Okay I tried not to make this fluffy, but genuine and plausible. So if it feels fluffy, I'm changing it immediately. Second, there will be an epilogue hopefully out within the next two weeks.


	11. Epilogue

Title: Pulse Point

Pairing: B/B

Rating: T

Spoilers: THitS

A/N: This has been a marvelous ride everyone. I truly thank you all for taking the time to read story. It's been great fun. This is a short conclusion to one of the many possibilities I envisioned for their relationship. Let me know what you think. And as always, thank you for the reviews.

-+-+-+-+-+

Someday. Maybe.

-+-+-+-+-+

She's holding your baby. A baby that you made with blood (lots of blood), sweat (too much sweat) and tears (sweet, happy tears). It's a wonderful sight to see as she walks back and forth, cradling your baby girl's head as she coos softly in her ears. You aren't surprised she is doing well with her; she was great with Andy. Even if she won't admit it.

Thinking back over the years, the woman standing before you is a stark contrast to the timid 17 year-old you first met in college. She used to shy away from conflict, rarely spoke out, didn't handle attention or praise well, and preferred to coast by as a wallflower than announce her presence with shimmering beauty.

"Bren, remember when I cut your hair our first year?"

"Yes, I also remember having to wear it in a pony tail for a week until I could get it fixed."

"It is not my fault that you sneezed!"

"It's your fault you had that stupid cat though. You know I'm allergic."

"Picasso was not stupid! He was loving and left you presents."

"Considering that his presents consisted of dead mice that he found around the apartment, I think I'll pass. Besides. He peed on your comforter every time you left for more than two days."

"At least no one gave me an ant farm as a sign of affection."

"It was a Morpho Cacica butterfly thank you very much, and I'll have you know that he is a well known entomologist now."

"The types of men you have dated through the years Bren... Goodness, you're lucky you ended up that fella over there," you motion to Booth as he and Hodgins go over some blueprints.

"Hey, they haven't all been bad."

"Yeah well..." you smile as you take a sip of your tea. "I was wondering for a while there if you'd make it."

"Who? Me and Booth?"

"It's just that, he got offered that deputy position and he gave it up for you," you state sensibly… tentatively.

"Booth didn't give it up for me. He gave it up so he could stay close to Parker."

"Oh, don't act so nonchalant about the whole thing. You can't deny that having Booth three thousand miles away wouldn't hurt a little bit."

"He's a free man, he can do as he wishes."

"Bren..."

"Look, we got over that... rough patch. He's here now and we are still together. Fifteen months two weeks and eight days later."

"Wow, do you have a play-by-play?"

"A what?" she asks and you give her a look. "Oh, no. I just was looking at my calendar today and I noticed."

"Yeah, sure you did," you say as she frowns. Your daughter just coughed up on her shirt. She doesn't look too happy about that.

"You can have _this_ now," she says as she holds her away slightly, still supporting her carefully. The look of distaste on her face is priceless.

"Still don't want one, huh?" you ask as you take her into your arms, watching as Brennan wipes her shirt with a napkin.

"I honestly don't know anymore. In theory they seem like a reasonable idea. But I don't think my lifestyle would be conducive to supporting a child while still exploring my interests."

"Booth doesn't talk to you about it?"

"Not after we had that... conversation a few months ago."

"You know he doesn't want to push you, right? He'll wait for you, no matter what you decide."

"I know, but there's a part of me that recognizes he's always wanted more kids. I knew that when we got together. I never expected him to change that or give it up, but I never took into account what I would have to do. Admittedly, I do not find children nearly as elusive to me as I once did. But I'm still not certain I'd be ideal for that kind of role."

"You do realize most people feel like that, right? Not everyone thinks they'd be perfect for parenthood. Even then, no one, and I mean it - _no one_ knows what they're doing. All you can do is take it day by day, and when push comes to shove, call your dad and ask what your he did."

"That's pretty fallible logic, Angela. You appear to be very adept at being a mother. Not once have I seen you have any problems."

"Ha, wait until three a.m. when I'm crying because she won't fall asleep. Or when I just want to run to the store for some coffee, I have to bring three different bags and her carrier. A ten minute trip takes about an hour."

"I thought you were supposed to be convincing me of how wonderful motherhood is."

"You already know how wonderful it is, Bren, you do it all the time."

"What are you talking about?"

"Seriously? Sweetie, have you ever seen yourself with Parker? That kid would kiss the ground you walk on if all you gave him was an ounce of praise."

"Parker would do no such thing. He understands how unsanitary the ground is. Besides, Parker is different than other kids."

"Not really, that's something parents say when they think their kids can do no wrong. And honey, whether you want to admit it or not, you're like another mom to him. So you already are a parent, regardless."

She seems to be startled into this realization and sits still for a moment, looking at the ground. You wonder why it never occurred to her before now. On more than one occasion, she's actually taken care of Parker when Booth was out of town or late getting home from work. Rebecca and Brennan have even had coffee once or twice – slightly awkward the first time around, but they found they have similar interests both in men and traveling. They aren't the best of friends, but they both respect each other.

You remember Booth and Brennan's one-year anniversary. It was shortly after Lily was born and your dad was in town for the weekend. He insisted that you and Jack take the night off, because you both had the crazed look of new parents.

The night was hazy at best, it was the first time you'd had a drink since you found out you were pregnant. You and Brennan killed one bottle of expensive champagne and were working through another when she got quiet all of a sudden. She looked over at Booth who'd simply been sitting back, casually chatting with Cam's fiancé and Jack. He had that look in his eyes that makes you get all prickly and that was just from sitting next to her. It was a small, subtle moment, but that's how there relationship worked: grand, extravagant arguments, punctuated by soft-spoken moments of sincerity and love.

Later, you recall leaving the restaurant, mainly so you and Jack could get back to check on Lily. Brennan's hand reached out to grab Booth's like it had so many times in the past, and you heard her whisper, "It's been a year, and we still haven't killed each other." Then he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it softly. "Nope, not yet," he said, "let's see if we can keep it that way."

There are only brief glimpses that you get into their life together. Surprisingly, Booth has managed to remain very professional at work. Brennan has never been particularly good at girl talk, so unless you drag it out of her, you don't have a clue as to what's going on.

Occasionally though, they slip up and you can't help the ensuing grin. Sometimes, she'll take a long lunch break and come back looking rather chipper, especially when her skirt is slightly askew. Or you'll see Booth with his hair a little ruffled while the rest of his appearance is pristine. Except for his flushed cheeks.

Your favorite is when you all go out together, and they sit next to one another. They are never overt in their body language, but there are always the casual touches, the glances that hold for too long, the secret smiles they give each other. The way they can still bicker but do it with grins on their faces.

They've both been very careful with one another, aware that their relationship affects more than just them. More than that, they know how much they mean to each other, and that they don't need rings around their fingers to show they want to remain in a long-term committed relationship.

You appreciate their efforts at privacy and care, but sometimes, you wish they'd throw caution to the wind and go crazy. Maybe they do and you just aren't around. You did find Brennan's bra in your office one time. She blushed appropriately and didn't even bother with an excuse.

"Bren, I think Booth wants you," you say as you notice him coming this direction.

"Yo, Bones. Been calling your name for a good minute. What'd you do to her Ange, tell her that you don't actually make that chocolate mousse pie?"

"I do too!" you say as you swat him on the arm, not trying to jostle the baby. "Bren, don't believe a word that man says."

"Oh trust me, I've learned my lesson," she says as she walks over to Booth who is holding out her coat. You watch as she slips her arms inside and buttons up while Booth taps her on the butt with his tube of blueprints. She tries to swipe it away, but he's too quick.

"How're things looking with that? Jack didn't do anything crazy did he?"

"Of course not, we just wanted to get better input on the layout. Not every day you get to build a school for some orphans," he says with a nudge in Brennan's shoulder to which she rolls her eyes.

"It's not like this is the first one I've built, Booth. I just feel like the next one could do with some improvements after what we went through with the school in Uganda."

"Understandable," you say with a smile. "What time do you two want to come over for dinner?"

"Is seven okay? We've got to get to Parker's basketball game. He's leading scorer you know," says Booth proudly.

"I do know. In fact, I think you and Bren have told me that about 4 times," you say as you place your daughter into her car carrier. Best way to get her to sleep is to plop her in that sucker and drive around the block twice. Miracles of modern invention can't hold a candle to the classic car ride.

"Sounds great. Jack got you a particularly choice cut of meat for tonight, so you'll have that to look forward to," you tell Booth as Brennan kisses Lily on the forehead and steals you for a hug. "I know you make the chocolate mousse pie," she whispers quickly, "just make sure you don't let Booth know it has tofu in it."

Grinning, you part for the afternoon with promises to meet up with them again shortly. As you watch them walk away down the hall, they both stick their hands out at the same time, grabbing the other hand with neither lover leading nor lagging, simply walking side-by-side.

"Hey Ange?" Jack asks you as he rounds the corner with his keys, bending down to run a finger along Lily's hand.

"Yeah?" you say as you break your gaze from the fortunate pair.

"Do you think we could beat 'em?"

"With what?"

"Making one of these," he says, motioning to Lily.

"Is that your backwards way of telling me you want another child, Jack?"

"Well, that," he says as you both walk out the doors of the Jeffersonian, "and a hearty dose of competition."

"Why? Do you know something I don't?"

"Perhaps…"

"Jack," you warn as his fingers twine with yours.

"First, I happen to know that you want tons of babies."

"That I do."

"And that Booth mentioned something about Dr. B looking really good holding Lily."

"Jack. It's Booth. He thinks she looks hot when she's knee-deep in death and feces."

"Don't ruin my moment."

"Well, lets see how tonight goes. She seems to be coming around to the idea."

"That's my girl."

During the drive home, you can't help but think of the potential entertainment that could result from the birth of a child between those two. But you know more than most, that Brennan is not to be rushed. So you'll drop the hints and let Booth take care of the rest. As long as you're the godmother, it doesn't matter. As you hear your daughter sneeze behind you, you look back and smile at her tiny face and sleepy eyes. Everyone should get to experience parenthood. Even Brennan.

Maybe. Someday.

_le fin_


End file.
